A tangy glass of lemonade:

It stirs up a memory,

Of a midnight bus journey,

From Madras to Trichy.

Chilled lemon tastes cool,

On a humid summer's night,

Let me not rekindle,

The flames that have died.

Tonight I may go,

And sit on the beach,

And talk to the dim moon,

Of how the ebb would flow.

And while the waves lap,

The stretching sandy shore,

I may lie quietly,

And think I am no more.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Composed in Karachi, Pakistan, on the evening of 17th June, 2008...after a glass or two of chilled lemonade.

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