Summer—A Pantoum by Sreedhar Balagapal Another burning summer's here, it's bright and dry and scorching hot, the lakes are parched and gone all hard, the earth is chapped and crying out. It's bright and dry and scorching hot, the air is trembling nervously, the earth is chapped and crying out to slake her thirst with cold water. The air is trembling nervously, the trees are barren and all browned. To slake her thirst with cold water, the little girl goes to the well. The trees are barren and all browned, no leaves to offer any shade. The little girl goes to the well, a muddy puddle deep below. No leaves to offer any shade, all wilted in His burning gaze. She draws the puddle from below, and slurps from cupped palms greedily. All wilted in His burning gaze, the greens, now sallow, stoop lifeless. She slurps from cupped palms greedily, and prays aloud to god for rain. Among the greens, sallow, lifeless, up heavenwards she looks for hope, and prays aloud to god for rain, her palms clasped tight below her chin. Up heavenwards she looks for hope, and mumbles prayers learnt by rote, her palms clasped tight below her chin, eyes tightly shut from Soorya's* glare. She mumbles prayers learnt by rote, and reverently tells her Lord, eyes tightly shut from Soorya's glare, "please bring the rains and let us live". She reverently tells her Lord, "the lakes are parched and gone all hard, please bring the rains and let us live", another burning summer's here. * Soorya = Sun God © 2003 by Sreedhar Balagapal. All rights reserved. Home