O, sun By R.Krishnamurthy
You are moving at a snail’s pace
In a chariot pulled by seven horses
On a familiar course across the sky
With no stop over through out the day
How we wish you reach home early
We would get relief from weather sultry
Are you unmarried with no family
Is there no one to make you hurry
How we wish for a cloud cover
How we pray for a little shower
But you seem to turn red with wrath
Seeming to halt sweating us in a bath
You don’t serm to have any mercy
Under your spell, every well is empty
Every house is turned into a heat chamber
People are standing in queues for water.
