The songs of above forty folks

It is absurd to imagine caramine red on a wicked noon

Indian Summers tend to bite into the flesh and curb imagination

The mercury hates to rise, the tin roof houses are like ovens

But then, mangoes, lots of mangoes, so many of them

Didn't that bring a smile to your heart my child that has grown?

You remembered the green sour ones you threw rocks at the tree for

Didn't you? Maybe you got a few, out of those twenty or so tries

But you can recollect their taste with a dash of salt and red chillies

It's March, the month of dreamy folks, oh! I so know sun signs

We all have at some point read and pondered over Linda Goodmans

You could step out of college and opt for a smoke or savouries

This month is dreaded due to the final semester exams

March will turn to April soon, the green mangoes will ripen too

You will order a few dozens, Kesar is best, Alphonso is hype

You will sit at home, enjoy slicing and eating these

But, thirty years ago, is so long gone my dear forty

Those memories of hearts joined and a lot of times broken

When schools and colleges would be closed for a new session

Some of you may have travelled in the sweltering heat

Then we would come back in June, for another year, rinse and repeat