Invisible clouds of
dust and humanity
swathe the air
rendering fresh leaves brown and useless;
taking away the hopefulness of flowers.
Coconut branches droop
in languid apathy
tired of waiting
for a flirtatious breeze
to twist them into life.
Dust and stone of the city
mingle in the harsh, crisp air
casting a transparent shadow
of heat over stone
of oppression over water.
The world takes on
a yellow-gray hue,
contrasting the blue
of the unforgiving skies,
scaring away the mellow clouds.
Paling walls
Grimy windows
screened by thick dull curtains,
enclosing a safe haven of sorts.
A bunker dislocated from the cruel sun
giving way gradually to accumulated humidity.
Under a tired ceiling fan,
in a roar of dust and blaze,
She sits in state.
Thick, silky ringlets of hair,
limp with dust and exhaustion
stick to a damp forehead.
Crystal beads of perspiration
rest beneath her tired eyes
and on the rosy upper lip
trickle down her slender neck
like dewdrops.
A sun-browned foot
taps restlessly,
freeing itself from the folds of cotton
seeking the merciful floor tiles.
In the back bedroom of the old family mansion,
shielded from the violent suburban summer,
She rests like a frangipani flower on an altar,
a petal of hue in dullness;
going soft at the edges with damp.
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Eternal Summer - Scribbles
PoetryRamblings. Thoughts. Scribbles induced by the heat and ennui of an eternal summer.
