In the name of the Destroyer

Today the forget-me-not blooms
anticipating its monsoon;
Dogs announce the advent of a restive summer;
This season, summer outsmarts spring
And monsoon is a wayward witch.

This watermelon seller wanders around the old city
Singing with a parched throated voice
Of oriental princesses bound by a curse
and of the estrangement of Nature.
City-dwellers hear his refrain
Their tastebuds tingling with a known thirst,
a desire for the here and unknown beyond..
Flesh, seeds and rind
might just quench these primitive urges.

Harlequin dance-theaters
with a twist of magpie-like flitting romances,
high on tales of raconteurs cooling off,
stealing time to smell the scents of flora and fruit:

a desert dust always mixed in the air.
No sea in sight
The (hot) earth will swallow these waterdrops…