Indian Summer

Indian summer

It is very hot, here in India,
I sweat, perspire, squeeze my
handkerchief wet becomes
droplets of water, on my handbag,
sweating on my forehead, as if
to shed ego and pride,
giving advice to ego,
as I come out, you too wean ,

I forget this weakfish like,
Green colored, lurking in the
Corner of my bag the umbrella,
as I unfold it, it spreads like a
Cute little girl spreading her
frilled frock, dancing before me,
dancing on the smooth mosaic floor,

I picture my granddaughter who
Danced, dances, rounding, holding
her frock, this is not the age for her
to realize, that life is a mosaic of
seasons and serendipities,
I cool in the late spring showers
Of my London flat, the mild white
Snow, a companion to my bath tub,
Dove is creamy white, with its froth,
Bids adieu to trivia, trivia.