Neha Mujumdar

Summer

The sun comes out
In a fierce, terrible blaze
Nothing can take back
The horror of coming days.
‘Tis not sunlight, ‘tis not sunshine,
it is fire. Fire.
Fire in your eyes.
And soon you shall tire
Tire, of breathing
And thinking
Soon you shall tire
Of being alive
It shall not protect
It shall not warm
It shall not delight
Or keep from harm
It will burn, hurt, tear apart
Fine strings of man and monster’s heart.
Say goodnight
For ne’er will you see
The stillness, the quiet
Of night. Night.
Say goodbye
And ne’er will you ...