Summer Air Poem by Reema Kawatra

I'm in awe of the air I breathe,
the winds of intense-summer wreathes,
they blow over the hilltops so high,
to the limits of a seamless blue sky,
swiftly over the green fields,
laden heavy with its yields.

It brings relief on a hot summer day,
to the solitary farmer in the farmlands away,
he tills and plough, fluffing the soil,
soaked in sweat from his toil,
when at mid-day he sits to supper,
surface winds provide succour.

Playfully hopping in mango trees,
I hear the chirruping parakeets,
dangling upside down on tender stems,
nibbling away the ripe golden gems,
peacocks perched on the boundary walls,
brilliant plumage of blue enthralls.

Now that it is almost June,
the winds sometimes bring a whiff of monsoon,
raindrops splattering gleefully on parched earth,
every bosom full of mirth,
I hunch and scribble till it hurts my rump,
sitting bedazzled on this weathered old stump.