It's a long hot summer.
And not a whiff of romance.
Like a sea of thousand faces.
And a draught of one who would take a chance.
A numerous clouds dot the sky.
Not one of them would care to drop by.
Shriveled by heat, all desires are dry.
As if the eagle wants no more to soar high.
No rain to calm.
No love to act as a balm.
It's an arid desert, far and wide.
It's a scorching, tiring, draining ride.
Thirsty eyes look up to the sky, sending their prayers every hour.
When will the rain gods of life relent?
When will love flow like a monsoon shower?
(Writen after getting deranged by the Delhi heat.)