Vihang A. Naik

The song of a Koel coos
from engines and smoke pipes.
Find yourself in the arms
of summer; a roasting
season
where the smell lingers
of flesh and blood
burning alive.

Buffaloes rest
on muddy waters, and stray dogs
on leakage from gutters.
Summer shadows move
and float upon baked soil.

The wings of a fan persist,
unexhausted. Look out!
Through the iron grills
on the tongue of a dragon
is the boiling sun,
while, locked up, you dream
of rain and thunder.