Indian Summer

Beads of sweat 

Trickle down his brow,

The sun overhead,

The farmer at his plough.

Naked children run out,

Jump into near dry pond,

Splash precious drops on black hides

As tails swat flies around.

Brown birds trail the plough

Peck at earth upturned,

Willing the parched soil to dislodge

 A seed or a worm.

Hot breeze stirs dry leaves,

Dust swirls around, picks them up,

Goats nibble at dry stalks,

Bells tinkling as they walk.

The goatherd rests under a tree,

Dog and flute for company,

Tunes float in the hot dry noon,

The cuckoo calls out for the monsoon.

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