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HEAT WAVE
By Haimnauth Cecil Ramkirath
It’s not the same sun of our childhood days,
when it warmed our hearts, made strong sinews and bones,
healed bruises on knees, and watched with glee our frolic and fun.
What have we done to provoke the sun?
Some days the fire in its eyes reaching the ground,
burning forests, melting roads and bridges, blasting towns.
Where’s that shield, pristine through the ages,
to guard against this seething wave of torment,
sapping the vitals of humans and beasts,
as we implore the heavens to open the gates with a flood of relief?
People jumping into the ocean, rivers, and lakes at high noon.
Who would not delight in a splash when the air a boiling cauldron?
Who would object when some bare it all,
when every undergarment feeds fire on skin?
What dreaded face the sun will show in a hundred years?
Will we ever learn, will we mend our ways?
There’s hope that the effulgent orb from which life springs,
will guide the hearts and minds of human beings,
and show again the face that warmed our childhood days.
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