do not play
the angles so steep
a doomed triangle takes
an eternity to reap

do not paint
in colours so gay
these eyes are not blind
and you are only grey

do not glide
on your words of paper
i can smell the rains
i can see you vapour

the shoots so green
and the yellow bamboo cluster
like that tamarind so lean
begin to whisper to me that
by my side, agaze and alean
lies my life - in bloom and gleam.

two years have gone by
as i've watched the dark
catching you on the sly
but you only smile wry
and walk the remaining
of your maddening mile

those pots of roses
into which dida
added used leaves of tea
sometimes the summer
returns to me

those rays running breaking
my night's snuggled sleep
lost in dark hours now
sometimes the summer
returns to me

those empty straight roads
leading to quarters in cream
with charming green mangoes
or eleven trees of neem
sometimes the summer
returns to me

those stolen fish fries
in bowls too hot for my hand
or rasna and maggi-lined smiles
lost now in mealtimes so bland
sometimes the summer
returns to me