( 97) Temperature
AS I walk the thronged city amidst hot pellets of winds,
even all the perfumes of Arabia would not wipe my sweat
the cool cotton sari as supposed to have been gifted
by my PARAMOUR who is an expert in necromancy
as imagined and concocted by a
libidinous woman, would not keep me cool,
for the heat of summer is emitting fire like boiling cauldron,
methinks sin in all its forms blows, blows in the summer winds,
yonder the thatched roof of a school catches fire,
innocent children run helter-skelter,
yes! Innocence always pays for the misdeeds of some body,
I run to the nearby shop to quench my thirst,
to my surprise a lizard in coca cola bottle,
The goddess of nemesis would form a tsunami,
Puissant , ordained in its pursuit
‘ P is silent for perfection is also silent’
before she engulfs all the sinister in her ire
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