School days during summer

THE SUMMER SUN HAS NOT STOPPED BLAZING

It's the summer season --

--blooming in every colour,

The mornings start

With the hot sun rising,

The afternoon heat is unbearable,

Some pause in the evening,

The night air leaves one gasping.

 

I remember all those childhood days,

When it was as hot or hotter,

Than it is today.

But the scorching heat was battling,

With the huge green trees outside classes,

Did I ever care or pay attention,

Or did I take it all in the stride,

Although I saw working people seeking,

Shades to ease their panting,

Some cold water was all they sought,

No, I did not mind the temperature, sweltering,

All that mattered to me was playing.

 

I remember a sweat-dripping girl rushing,

Towards me for she needed water,

And my thermos flask's ice-cold always,

Eased her thirst and off she would go jumping,

To join her friends for jumping and dancing.

While I used to sit under a tamarind tree, watching,

All the fun the school kids were having,

I never paid attention to the burning heat waves,

And hopped along home without even a scar,

Those post summer noons meant nothing.

 

Now I am not as playful or runnning,

Here and there like I used to when even,

The sweating sun would shoot its shots,

Nothing matters now:

Yet I still go to my shady tree bench,

Even though I am perspiring.

 

The days, the weeks, the months, the years,

All of them were still beaming,

In my mind's eyes, making me smile,

And pass on the football to the little boy,

Who was gasping for breath but was still playing.

I remembered the lovely little girl,

Who would come to me for water, somewhat shyly,

Yet she would drink one or two glasses,

Of the ice-dold water from my flask.

Yelling me a big "thanks" before joining,

Her playmates, jumping and laughing,

All -- just a part of their playing.

 

Now I sit under the shady tree bench,

And my mind recollects everything,

Which had no impact in the past:

Neither the summer heat, nor the weariness,

Which would be somewhat energizing,

After having a glass of two of ice-cold water,

Which I and my buddies would find refreshing....

All is the same...or is it all the same?

Now I am drenched in sweat and somewhat tiring,

Yet the school children would not stop playing,

The sun's heat just meant nothing,

To them except another noon meant for playing,

Carousing, jumping rope, sliding and running...

All the childhood activities...the carefree joys,

Of school days have rushed past me,

As the seasons kept their course, changing,

I paused for a while as I looked at the children,

And wished how joyous was childhood playing.

 

I miss the girl who would come to me for water,

Even the flask which my mother always gave me,

Filled with ice-cold water was no longer there,

Only the shady tree bench was still comforting,

I decided to join the school kids' fun,

But all of them ran away, some scared, some shy,

I missed the days when even I,

Would run away from strangers --even with water,

For my parents admonished to eat or drink anything,

Which any stranger man or woman,

Would willingly offer as they watched me and my friends,

Having fun without even caring to look up,

At the cruel sun, shooting its hot flames,

On us -- No, what mattered most to us boys and girls,

Was the playful fun we were all having,

Water mattered but it was secondary,

Our childhood games were more entertaining,

Be it summer, autumn or winter,

All that meant the most to us children,

Was spending time in the field...playing.

For us it meant everything.

 

Now that litle gil must have grown up,

To be a good mother and a husband, loving,

Would she now venture out in summer,

Or give a flask of cold water to her little ones,

Would she be also remembering,

The days when we were all playful children?

Would she like to see her little ones,

Playing in the field with the sun high above?

I shake my head and rush back home,

And sit in a room which has air-conditioning...

I cannot bear the summer heat now,

For I am not a young school going boy,

Nor am I like that gasping girl,

Who would stop and ask water for drinking....

No man, I am past my youthful days too,

And the summer sun hasn't stopped blazing.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A mood of how hardly summer is felt by people past their youth...as children they just seek playing. Posted on April 12, 2017.

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