We are yellow straws
sigh in an Indian summer
wait for cooling fall.
The electric fan
scornfully circulate warm air
throws it in my face.
Today’s oppressive heat
will be a winter day’s dream
of a summer past.
September breeze… warm
has thin layers of coldness
in unseen vapour.
Grumpy old river
the mountain cools the lake
sending a chilly note.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem