Summer Offers Sun Poem by Sanjukta Nag

Blades of straw are still lying leveled
On the ground, left by our worried body,
Blowing crimson dust of twilight, we move
Playing broken harp of forgotten melody.
Three miles gone, then a dried river comes
We cross the bridge of realistic reason,
Nothing to give or nothing to receive
During the sterility of scorching season.
Soul of soil is baked by sunny love
Our stomachs progress in lighting up fire,
Striving hard to count each day, while
Heart has learnt how to burn soft desire.
Four five six more unsure miles to wander
Till we discover a water body on the way,
Then we’ll sleep by it and ask the night
To sing lullaby of sweet monsoon day.