Children in the rain

We wanted clearly laid out paths
Between thin strands of July rain.
Our faces were drowned in hoods
As the rain fell softly on our heads.
Its sounds came as from the ocean.

Our puny judgments took a beating
In such a steady patter on our ears
Where they seem to be beating us
Like angry fathers, back from office.
As we walked we made tiny circles
In rain water, under our umbrellas
That saved us from an angry sky.

The houses were a blur in white.
Our paths ended in green of trees.
Rain-mud spattered on black coats
Surprised by blurs of passing cars,
Their wipers saying no to the rain.

We had left our school in the street.
Our home of angry smoking fathers
And soft grannies in loving egg-heads
Seemed to vanish in the fuzzy rain.
A scruffy dog shook its body of rain.

Back at home, we bath our wet bodies
In eucalyptus steam, as its vapors rise
Quickly to drown the rain in its smell.


Children in the afternoon

We played seven stones game, piled one on another
Toppling them with ball that would fly into bushes.
The lazy afternoon heat beat on our sleeping trees.
The birds had gone on to their own afternoon sleep.
We entered the scrunching leaves sending the lizard
Scurrying to the hole of its wall, its triangular head
Popping out a while to hear our tiny feet in the leaves.

Up on the mound we deeply looked into a dark hole
To look for the slithering sound of the resident snake
We would then run down fast, afraid of its unheard hiss
And fall to the ground with coins of kneecaps bleeding.

We then climbed the guava tree to its highest branch.
We caught the squirrel eating the fruit of our ripeness.
In the evening we played badminton with the marigold
Smelling yellow petal shreds as they spread in the sky.