Talking of a Fan
I am not talking of a fan
Finger-biting, awe-struck
I am talking of the device
Triggered by a switch, stuck
On the roof, to provide breeze
In a hot day, moving and nice.
(I) remember the hottest day
In my life, on the sands of the river.
With crystal clear water,
But so warm no fish would like.
With a friend sharing the lot
With a pair of rickety bikes,
And the carefree youth in us
Where even the hottest day
In one's life, doesn't matter.
It was forty eight in the city, they said
The hottest in the history,
That some caught unawares, died
That was a long time back, but imprinted
With indelible ink, in the mind.
Whenever they say it is hot
Without fail, everytime
It hits the spot.
Oh, I just forgot I was talking of the fan
For those who just wait and serve
Not surprisingly, it happens often.
No one remembers the pain
Of the workers who sculpted the stone
But commit to memory the name of the king
Who just ordered from his throne.
Shame on me, I forgot again
I wanted to talk, about the fan.
Copyright © Swarup Mohalik | Year Posted 2013
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