Siestas In Summer
Every afternoon, from two to four
This city falls asleep.
Don't make too much noise,
She doesn't like being Disturbed
Bring a pillow and some sorrow
And settle in her warm embrace.
The dogs go skinny dipping
In the barely covered drains
And slump down
as the water splashes against their chin,
Lost in the thoughts of their next meal.
The rotting man covers his face with a moistened cloth
Laying beside the fresh fruits.
The constant buzzing of the fruitflies,
A Leonard Cohen song.
The students slump back in their chairs,
The future of our nation,
Nodding in unison,
drunk barely employable men,
Lie around, indisposed,
on the grass bed,
The plastic cups (supposedly banned)
Flex their freedom in the breeze.
The present of our nation, dear friend,
Is currently present in a dilapidated state.
The past of our nation
Is not doing much better, huddled around
where the grass is greener.
Bickering about dirty tricks and 10 rupee bets
the wrinkled hands dealing cards
Then the suited men in Vegas.
Surrounded by tobacco packets
And an increasingly hostile world.
The lovers sitting by the tiny stream,
Dip their feet in water
And wash away the guilt of hiding
And the the pain of parting.
Their willingness to touch and explore
Each other even in the sweat and humidity
Is a true testament to modern day love.
Smiling at things left unsaid,
They thank the afternoon for putting the guards to sleep.
The pan stained walls and the littered streets,
Overlooking the glasspane windows
Of the mnc.
The dirt on the sidewalks,
And the frayed electric wires,
The motherly jamun with it's arching reach,
The hungry squirrels and the hungrier dogs,
The dust in the air and the noise in the ear
Will all be there.
Go on, take a nap.