The Plateaus of Deccan

From the last blue mountains,
Where your sight reaches,
To the other blue mountains,
When you turn back,
Lie the great plateau,
Reminding of Buddha's
'Middle Path.'

--
A hot summer afternoon of Decaan

A tired farmer
Sleeps in the shade of neem tree,
He bullocks ruminating
Over the changing colours of the tilled earth
Or varied symmetry of crops in the field,
And flicking their tails in between,
Which two tireless flies dodge without effort.

A brown bird looks left and right
And then digs its beak into the field,
Quick and swift,
Looking for food without luck.

The dark clouds above
Cling to the neck of the mountains,
They might come down the curved path soon
And provide some respite.