Summer

A never ending summer,
And the light whitewashes life
In that deep impersonal tinge,
Of new government buildings
And cold antiseptic smelling hospital rooms.

Dawn seems a dread,
And is best not seen, but slept through.
So what if the sun rises in glory,
All that it brings is sweat and stink,
And the aircon. in calculating rattle keeps you alive.
Apparently.

Your insides give up and whither,
Trying to prod it alive,
Is like stirring a stained teacup of forgotten souls-
Is there anything in there,
And do you really believe in all that, anyway?

Time is a blur,
Days move like clockwork,
And no one protests- everyone forgets
Their own cause, and would swing sides
For a glass of seasoned tangy buttermilk.

But people fight- mindlessly.
They make mistakes, and more
To cover up those, And even more
To cover it all, and blame the mosquitoes,
Power cut, and their great grand uncle
For marrying, having a child and not leaving an inheritance.

At some point, you give up-
All that is too confusing. When will the rains come?
They do-
Summer showers are a free test drive of a luxury car-
You wish, you yearn, you feel, but you just can't.

Love moves like those clouds-
And you try to clutch at the vapours
Or be enticed by false petrichor,
But what's the point of a day or two?

Summer, seemingly endless and unforgiving-
Did someone steal its chocolates in first grade
Or cheat it of an inheritance?

Nothing makes it better;
Just the distant dream of the monsoons,
Now linger.