Summer Languors

Untitled

In the afternoon, liquid bursts of taste
white rice and this season's first
green coconut chutney.

Then, that languor of doing
nothing but toss and turn
a siesta -- another forced festivity.

In the evening, the familiars
an unslept feel, the failure
of the water pump to bring up even cool air.

Soon summer will colour everything
with the brassiness of its heat,
spreading a somnolence, vaporising ink.


***

Untitled

As the sun grows
in vehemence, burns
with its light,
I -- this Sharira
for found meanings --
am a vessel on boil.