Poems by

Tropical India

a poem by Anita

A summer’s sun bakes my lawn golden
spreads brown icing of burnt leaves,
from the trees dries up the wind
which laps up puddles of sweat,
rivers of salt run amok.
Mosquitoes host a musicale
over supine limbs, smelling blood
drool, puncture green swollen veins
go on a jag.
Anopheles waits with a pruned sting,
the fever with a shiver is common.
I hop from A.C to A.C, survive,
homeless myriads have learnt well
to savour heat and digest diseases.
Microwaved roads and breezes on the boil
spew heat like Chinese dragons
scorch flesh, raise vapours of blood.