It is a hot afternoon
the place is like an oven
washed clothes dry up in a second
totally humid and intolerable.
The birds try to chirp
refuse to chat and fly
as they cuddle in their nest
unable to see the bright sun.
The people dare not venture out
apprehensive of the sun stroke
refrain in their homes
afraid to face the incorrigible dazzle.
.
The sun unmindful of its power
shines with a bewildering excess
tarnish the grass and the skin
with equal strength in a fiery glow.
Meenas Poems 