Swathy Janardhanan

Summer is a colour.
Of burnt grass sheaths,
of pompous weddings,
and of plump oranges.
It's the hue of dusty lanes,
where kids play cricket.

Summer is a sound.
Of vehicles and horns-
and of rotating fans.
It's the noise of hawkers,
along the crowded streets-
and crows in garbage piles.

Summer is a taste.
Sour as lemonades.
Sweet as ripe mangoes.
Summer tastes like tears,
and bitter like bereavement.
It can be hot too, like pain.

Summer is a fragrance.
Of sweetmeats and curries.
It smells like sweat beads-
and tough dirt on clothes.
It has scent of perfumes,
marigolds,and hibiscus too.

Summer is a sensation.
Of hot breeze on your skin,
of running sweat beads-
and of mosquito bites.
It could be like dry leaves,
falling all over you too.

Summer is a longing.
To contain this vacation,
to be in your arms again-
and to travel like a breeze.
It's a longing for a drizzle,
and to hail nature all green.

In short dear,
Summer is a melange,
always unexplainable-
in a single word.
So if someone asks tell,
"Summer is a mystery".

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