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Beware Ides of May 2004. !
April is the cruelest month Mourned the poet seated in A cooling cottage .Where aircons Were absent but breeze was there. Heart but a waste land.
May to come is the cruelest month, I mourn as degrees turn hot, hotter, hottest In words. A hundred and above in mercury. The aircon that hums in dull C Sharp Is no music to the ears, throwing up Man made odours, onions, leather Adding to yesterday’s left-over Overflowing the garbage can.
Life blood of power failing It stops with a grinding halt Breathing its last with a grunt. Stripping us near naked with sweat The only water around free.
As one steps out for a Coke The blinding heat hits the eye Parched throat turns dry. Sahara it is as desert here, Not a flight to reach resorts.
Melting heat short circuiting Power in the distant shop, Warm Coke burns the throat. Tender coconut opened By hard wrinkled hands In the street corner, sucked Through straw, a synthetic link With nature’s gift, fills And cools the body and Heart within. Where nature Fails wholesale saves in retail a few. In May, I reflect Power, lost through Overload or Elections , is death.
~ T S Gopal ~
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