THE SEASON STARTS TOMORROW

THE SCORCHING SUN IS A FIREBALL
LIKE A BINDI ADORNING THE SKY
THE MONKEYS DOZE, THE COWS DROOL
NO BREEZE FOR THE TREES TO DENY

THE THIRSTY STREET LAY SWOONED IN A TRANCE
NO VENDOR OR CROW CAWS,
THE DOG CARES FOR NO FAITHFULLNESS
DROOPED HEAD UPON ITS PAWS

THE ANXIOUS FARMER WITH A SLEEPLESS EYE
AWAY IN THE FIELDS OF KUTCH
DOES'NT KNOW IF TO PRAY FOR RAIN
IF THE SWELTERING HEAT IS TOO MUCH

THE LITTLE ROBBERS ARE OUT ON A SPREE
THEIR TARGET IS BANCHARAM'S GARDEN
TREASURES OF MANGOES AND JAMUNS TO SNITCH
ESCAPING THE CHOWKIDAR'S ARDENCE

FROM THE BEADS OF SWEAT THAT TRICKLES DOWN
MOTHER'S TWIRLING BROW,
TILL IT CHANGES TO LITTLE DROPS OF HEAVEN
INTO TEAR-DROPS OF RAIN SOMEHOW

THE SLENDER RIBS OF THE RICKETTY GAMP
QUAKES AND CREEKS WITH RUST
MONSOON OR SUMMER IT IS DUTY-BOUND
AS A SHADY ENTITY OF TRUST.

HERE THE SUMMERS AR LONG AND HUMID
THE LIPS ARE AND LAKES ARE PARCHED,
HERE THE DAYS ARE SHORT AND BUSY-
THE NIGHTS ARE STILL AND STARCHED.

NOW THE TREES ARE BOUNTEOUS AND FULL
LIKE ICICLES IN CHILDREN'S HANDS
ARE THE SUMMERS THE SAME FOR THE ONES
WHO ARE MAROONED IN FOREIGN LANDS?