I sleep every other day,
in the afternoons. In a way
it is innate coming
from my mother.
Summer has set in early,
mercury rises unceremoniously,
unmindful of the heat, I rest
on the plain floor.
Milkman motors through
the garden, Hoots without
a stop. Cursing him
I try to rise.
Lo! my head revolves
eyes rotate ,the ceiling
comes down, floor
goes up.
I lie, still, clutching
the pillow. It lasts
for a second. I resume
my balance and sit up.
The milkman continues
yelling ” amma, amma”.
Meenas Poems 