Jun 3, 2020

That Summer Afternoon

That scorching sun and it’s summer run
Bloated emotions of spring, lying undone
The moods set to slowly melt in melancholy
Like those trailing strands of the ornate lily

Streets around guarded by the canopies of bright flowering trees
The orange Gulmohars, Yellow Palaash, those pink, white Siris
Below it's dehydrated branches, rested these tired feet and red eyes
Of labours and travellers, walking for miles-on-foot,
Of beggars and the street shops owners selling a fruit
Of the incense and toy sellers, at every traffic light
Of their hopeless old women and the starving brides
Of a child unborn, waiting to share their plight
And the little ones with droopy and sunken little eyes

Not many shelters to save them from the auburn sun
Not enough stalls, for them to fetch some milk or bun
The tropical crowd was sweating it out,
The drops of saline, choking the shouts
The cops charging blows at them, beating them into a pulp
While we lay binging news of COVID Count, only to sulk

The unwanted, poor men and women
Of a city of course, not counting on them
That city with some elitists, wondering indoors
Complaining about the burden of household chores
Invariably uncertain of their lives, once t'is over
A nation under lockdown, unwilling to even care
Then came the trains plying to harass them every bit,
With nothing to address their thirst or the stomach pits

That summer afternoon and then, the many that followed
The society felt a hollow with endless lives it swallowed
That summer afternoon and the following nights that turned darker
I too felt abandoned, wondering if lives were really worth a barter.