By The Enigmatic Tramp
Summer of ’05 The fundamental joy of being free (at three): Twirling in abstracts, I dance with sunshine And wear frocks With mustered abandon; Glee may be a proper-noun But happiness is common. We eat chalk-powder fashioned from limestone, Whet our appetites with art And these streams call for Splashing, with our feet. Set apart, we play, I pull her hair, She tears my dress, But crickets break our tension, And we turn once more to Bat a lemon ball. Summer of ‘10 We camp under the stars: Tiny pinpricks of light. Around our tents are a flood of lanterns, Fire guides us bright. I fall asleep fast but now Memories are hazy and Night-time yellow seems a Tad bit lazy. Summer of ‘12 Noonshine leaking through the Air-dried, sun-crisp curtains That we bought six years ago. These yellow-green ikat patterns Dancing in their elemental shades, Throwing dappled rays on tiled floors, Sitting around, us cousins, all ages Mangoes dripping salacious curves from lips As our mothers cut the king; Summer dreams are for forgetting The year’s lessons of history. We hire out our brains As we sit in front of listless screens And laugh raucously with Jerry And laugh raucously at Tom. Summer of ‘14 If happiness is yellow, Then friendship is too. This campfire burns faster Than our energy at dance camp, Our feet stomping and Liner melting in accordance With the beat and the beating rays. These yellow flowers gleam: A golden highlight in our Hair, our braids twisted Away, and our faces Made fair. Our morning hikes interrupted By the bulbul’s intake of worms Following the clamour that we make. If summer set tomorrow, And life would rise again, Would nature not feel our absence?
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