The old bougainvillea is tired, it’s been
up all night trying to grab some dew
falling from the sky. Too tired
to lift its branches up to sway to the beat
of the wind blowing hot jeering
at the bougainvilleas’
inability to move. Last night’s dew
disappeared the moment it
touched the air. Leaves groan
in dismay but stand back and wait wishing
the sky would open up the umbrella
of white clouds early today.
Sunshine’s all around. My skin melts like
ice cream
slithering down my neck and arms
chocolate brown tasting salty.
The garden seat
under the shady mango tree is no respite.
The sun’s long fingernails
pierce through leaves to tap on my head
and shoulders. The grass gave up
last week, changing colour from green
to ugly brown, crisp to the touch like pencil
shavings while the earth cracks open
to let in some air. It’s boiling
inside like a kettle ready to be poured out
for tea, a volcano churning
to spew out. Rivers run dry pushing sand
up to the top. Fish huddle behind rocks
too hot for comfort
while I move indoors to sweat it out under
a swirling fan and wonder when
the madness will end. Dust flies like
butterflies around town but no
one’s amused. There’s no time for
joy. The day has just begun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem