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veeraiyah subbulakshmi


The summer's Sun..


The desiccated summer’s soil so hot,
On the beds of barren river sun ablaze,
Weathered feet fitted with worn out sandals,
The breeze carries the dust to deposit on the head,
The baker’s oven good enough to bake the buns,
The summer sun graciously scalds the skin,
The salted water escape through the pores,
The drinking water hard to get for the filthy poor,
The sky is dusted, vacuumed and then mopped,
The salivating drops of water elope to the oceans,
The people congregate on the shores to celebrate the union,
Far from the land it pours into water, a treacherous action,
The cactus blooms merrily near the fence of the paddy field,
Where the names of the sweethearts are written using Iron nails,
Summer lakes are drier while our women eyes are wet,
Our men make merry consuming the sour toddy,
They have lost their pride and beg for the pickles,
Our kids running noses can’t be stopped with herbs,
We are the cowards, as our hunger needs some food,
The summer sun is too cruel to play the game of angry bird,
With one catapult, it collapses our hope, secures high score.

Submitted: Friday, May 10, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 17, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Thank you Sekharan Pookkal for the inspiration...

Comments about this poem (The summer's Sun.. by veeraiyah subbulakshmi )

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  • Rookie - 781 Points Thomas A Robinson (5/11/2013 1:03:00 AM)

    The summer sun rules over all, dictates as a iron mastet. Often cruel, and
    unforgiving it's scorching oversite leaves nothing to guesswork.
    And we wilt and lose fortitude and become shadow people looking for
    shadows to hide under. But there comes the night and we share our
    existence with the spiders and scorpions and mice and king Cobras.
    Those are the people we know. (Report) Reply

  • Freshman - 1,924 Points Lorraine Colon (5/10/2013 11:46:00 AM)

    As I read each line, I can picture it in my mind. Much suffering, few moments of happiness. But we continue the journey, always moving forward, hoping for better. Good poem, thank you. (Report) Reply

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