July Fiction: An Indian Summer Day (a poem)

Seeking shade from the sweltering sun,
Dark-skinned feet pound on a road
Made of melting tar. It sputters, it spits,
And teases the blisters on those naked, calloused soles.

As dry throats struggle to make a sound
And yellowed fields lie fallen, parched
Figures slight in stature draw water from a well,
Throw it up, and rejoice in the bliss of their false rain.

The sun glares down with a ferocity unmatched
And dares the world to just go on existing
And such is his anger, that even the clouds cower
And fruitlessly attempt to placate him.

Yet how can they be a match for him?
A match for the ruler of the skies?
And so they buckled, efforts all for naught,
And relenting, even they started to sweat.

The living down on land run helter-skelter to be free
Of the respite they had longed for but moments ago,
Yet I still keep seated in my spot under a tree,
And so, thoughtfully, I chew on a betel nut.

*

Sanya says, “I am an aspiring author and wish to write in such a way that my words strike a chord in the hearts of those who read my work.”