Summer ramblings

Summer ramblings

It is summer receding, yet with usual power failure,
I sit by the door with the bamboo fan, country made,
fanning my face,
inherited from my grandfather
both the habit and the bamboo items,
my left hand turning the pages of
Andrew Motion, still am motionless, for the
Sweat is flowing like what,
running water on my forehead.


I hear the whistle of rice cooker,
After all we should have one eye in
the kitchen too,
as our cogitations burst,
to have outlet,
the sound of whistle on the lid,
gyrating.


I look up at the multi-storied building,
from balcony still in progress,
a high scaffolding and how those
Laborers suffer the heat and weight
of cement and concrete?
For them does life have concreteness?

Yet Life is for all of us,
Yet living is for all us.