The Massacre at Dawn

The signs were ominous,
She had been eying them for a long time now,
Friends and relatives were talking about it,
The neighbours had undergone a similar treatment a few days ago,
Time stood painfully still,
Days and nights seemed inconsequential,
Food supplies and water levels were aplenty,
But death seemed an imminent threat,
During the harsh summers and the chilly winters,
They stood strong,
Not asking much,
But disciplining themselves and growing in number,
It was as if they weren't even there,
The world seems to push them over,
They, who don't seem pretentious,
They, who don't act brash,
They didn't smell like a rose,
Or look like the Birds of Paradise,
But they were an industrious lot,
Providing essentials for others' vanity,
One fine morning,
The Cacti lay uprooted from their sleepy abode,
And that's when I saw,
The massacre at dawn.

A Summer Melody

There is a splash of amber everywhere,
A cloudless rhapsody,
Winds carry times of change
And the Earth splits open,
Moisture seems scared to venture outside,
Cacti curse their fate even more.

The mornings give you hope and belief,
Of a day of pleasantness and relief,
The heat wrinkles the urchins torso,
It wilts adolescent plants
And tests the fortitude of trees,
A Breeze flows from the hills
And proceeds to envelope the plains.

We live in times when
Shade is in paucity
And sun block is a necessity.
Gulmohar is the flavour of the season,
Fiery saffron to blind away the summer woes,
Afternoons are a reminder to one and all,
That hell is not an option at all!

Throats are parched,
Bodies dehydrated,
Brows are drenched,
Handkerchiefs are wet,
Muscles are strained
And the mind is drained.

But in spite of this ,
Men toil on,
Because there is the promise of better times ahead,
Of rain and foggy winter mornings,
As life moves on,
With the belief of a better tomorrow.