Fridays, and Summers

Summer is here, it is not even half past winter

El Niño, I call that terrible forecast

But then again Indian summers begin early 

Like all things, El Indian tosses it off to do its thing

I admit the wind is beautiful, a hint of coolness 

But the sun decides it won't be without attention

My clothes are hung out to dry in my balcony

As I look at the mango trees in the distance

Those mango florets have not yet started to appear

It is supposed to around February, I wanted them early

Sometimes a drizzle in March ruins them, rots them

Oh heavens! Please don't do that this year too

It is almost high noon, of this winter summer interleave 

I am reminded that poetry won't work as food right now

I need to walk into the kitchen, cook something

I will make tea too, then eat and watch the noon fade

Being two for one

Rain clouds pitter patter, like people's banter

A few light years distant, where are our minds

Lies and lies down, to not meet these interruptions halfway either 

For they don't soeak the tongues I yearn, nor tongue my yearnings

A weird myriad of cacophony 

And our hearts turn deaf, as if poked by choice

Why not one could ask

For they are here, to while away our time

Neither are to die in our place, we could if we could and wanted in their's

But for the show of camaraderie, Ah! Such a show of opulence 

We refuse these for we have seen better and many

Ad so we row our boats, in this vastness among these critters

And remind ourselves that we are alone, not lonely

Both of those words may shock most

Only a few can see one is better than the other