If Summer Is Not Hot, How Will It Be? , Said She The Poor Working Black Woman Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

When said I unmindfully,
The word coming out of mouth,
The woman sitting next to me
On the platform
Under the cool shade of the tree
Complaining of heat and humidity
Said she,
If the summer is not hot,
How will it be?

The idea clicked and I kept mum
On hearing her gentle words
Said it, opined rightly,
If summer is not hot, what will it be,
Waters will dry, turn into vapours,
It will evaporate
To rain
And if it rains it not,
Where will crops come from
And food and water to eat and drink?

The cycle of seasons
Will remain as usual
Coming
One after another,
Nature
Too is the same
What it was,
What it will be,
Only the shapes of the things
Keep changing.

I went way, walked her past,
boarded the train and went away
Sitting in the bogey,
But the words stammered,
Mumbled and fumbled,
I could not,
Could not,
If summer is not, how will it be,
What will it be like?