Indian Summer

Weary bird sitting in the branch Looks at the clouds as ahead they march Behind the cloud the vast mass of azure sky Does not bode well as the season looks dry Thirsty bird stares with a palpitating heart At the cow struggling hard to pull the cart The rage of the sun sucks dry wells and ponds Leaves and flowers burn in the dying fronds Tiny bird shed tears on the parched earth It is afraid to look at the tree’s thinning girth At a distance the peak seems as if in fire It flaps the wings for a whiff of fresh air Poor bird its eyelids begin to droop The trees start to fall like a vanquished troop Its soul soars high as body drops to ground In the burning grass its trace can’t be found