This Summer

How hot this summer without a lee,
Moves not a leaf, It's killing me.
Dear God! please change my ambiance,
If not, atleast my perseverance.
What job! with all dripping saturated wipes,
With hot air I force clean the pipes.
Inhaling fumes and dust, not flowery!
Dear God! atleast think of my allergy.
You know the best, how do I suffer,
If not, recollect my last adventure.

My Curtains

I don’t know if I write with craze,
Or just dance down some uncommon phrase;

A new place where I would love to be,
In dreams comes a hill top canopy;

I wake up floating in some golden haze,
And my curtains flying with evening rays;

All brilliant colors then seem to fly,
All birds all leaves then feel allies;

I wake up aching in both my eyes,
And my curtains hoping against the lies;

A new place where I never fancied to be,
A roofless hut under a leafless tree;

I don’t know if I dream by chance'
Or just murmur in a state of trance;

I don’t know if I write with craze,
Or just die down some uncommon phrase.



I dedicate this poem to Mr. Amandeep Sandhu, the writer of 'Sepia Leaves'.