Spicy Rasam

The sun is harsh,
The ground is dry,
Air is thick,
And hot,
Very hot,
Trees stand still,
The scene is still,
Still like a picture.

We can think of water,
But thinking won’t do,
Keeps getting hotter,
Hotter, hotter, hotter

We long for a breeze,
That sweeps through our hair,
We seek the help of trees,
As the sun keeps up the glaze.

But there is no place to hide,
Hide from the light,
That roasts the place,
The place we live in.

We want to escape,
Escape this summer,
We want to escape,
Escape from the Sun…