Swears the world has gone quiet
While the sun gorges on its human diet.
Silence in the hot lane
Sleepy, dying, or on the wane,
Hears the shrieks of a song:
There were vultures in the Sun, all along.
Summer abhors the dying.
See how its banner of Bougainvillea is furled
And the Koel sings of undying beauty
Round the fever of the sick living.
A time to abandon good friends:
Hands, limp, heavy hands, hang from branches of dreams
In moon salons and star bazaars –
Is this the best hand I have got?
April, deal the cards!
Ennui of lawless winds
Rummaging through fossils of sighs
Dust has muddied the lover’s tear,
He thinks it is death,
And life yet to be.
In Spring a body, prim as a flower,
Shook the cold morning hands of a doctor of physic,
They were in a hospital ---
Down the hall
In a quiet ambulance memory lay dead,
Its stench awful.
Doctor and the beautiful cadaver
Looked at each other,
No one knew why they had come there at all.
26th April 2021