April 28 by Meena

April 28

It is a hot day the fiercest this summer. I hear no birds nor the buzz of bees. My plants look tired. Trees bend towards the ground. My grass is yellow. Dry like hay. They seem to cry for water. I see earthen pots filled with water outside each household. Few Samaritans keep buttermilk seasoned with spices. Tender coconuts, watermelons flood the pavements. They fetch an extraordinary revenue, the hawkers thrive. Festivals abound, a mechanism that creates a distraction. One indulges in the divinity diffuses in the fervour. The children lick the ice fruit, The adults swish their tongues with cotton candies while the deities go round in silver chariots. The heydays are on the anvil. Mercury soars, water turns sparse. drought stares hard. Land turns sterile Epidemics and deaths lineup. Summers are unpleasant. Horrific. I experience aches, dehydration. It is late April. Imagine not, what it would be in early May.

Meena ( Meenakshi) is a writer, a poet. and a business woman. She is the author of "Odes In Eight'' and "There I Am",

Kindle Publications. She contributes to Poetry Forums, The Waters, The Writers Block, Conjunction and Muse India Your Space. Meena lives in Madurai, India. She loves to be at home, listens to classical Indian music.