Morning - Six O’clock -
Platinum-hued, like molten silver, appeared the sun
I see him from the balcony of our fifth-floor flat
With a raging dust storm flicking dust on my head
This sent me thinking, pitying, almost shedding tears
Andhra summer this year with scalding heat
The poor, without proper roofs over their heads
Wading through ways to overcome yearly water shortage
Parched, singed, smouldered women, men and kids in the blaze
Numbers not in hundreds or myriads - but millions.
Lies, worse lies and Statistics - goes the wit unscientific
Countless are the deaths still not correctly numbered -
Nature’s fury never comes right in our statistics.
Mother Nature’s displeasure, the sun’s valour, or fate?
It’s all the three – we cry in vain in horrid pain.
(Several States in India have been experiencing excruciating heat wave this month which already killed many and scorched all. Telugu populace is the worst scourged.)
