MY SUMMER SHARE

Buckets of water excitedly spilled on hot floor in an Indian village
splashing and skidding we all flop on the wet veranda
cousins giggling and whispering
electricity shying away from rural heat.

The buzzing mosquitoes sharing the moonlight
with belches and snores of elders on hand spun cots
our decade old hands forming circles to trap stars far away
an occasional breeze dozing the lone candlelight.

Unconcerned of floor dehydrated again, we droop off
stirring up to trace sweaty maps on floor
our twisted groggy shapes creating
a fictitious continent or a country.

Our innocent smiles pursue masking the heat outside
cold waters of the courtyard well, waiting to scrub sticky bodies.
Jumping and hopping, chewing the field's sugarcanes and groundnuts
licking fresh dried mango pieces, savouring each warm moment
of summer vacation.

My feet having travelled many ages
I gaze out now to stare at the hot Arabian sands,
sitting in the synthetic coolness of the air conditioner.

Power of the power, not timid any longer,
commanding every shape
be it round on the wrist or rectangular in hand
or the coolness of my triangle roofed house.

Signalling the alarming rate of existing countries
or places shrinking or unseated
global warming and politicians
each playing their dominating share.

My warm share of summer just now a tale I attempt to keep raw
sharing with my daughter, each time the narrative told
becoming hazier than the sun setting in the horizon.