So oppressive was the air
Even the fan was panting
In that sultry evening
In search of freshness
Under the limp canopy
The forest was no refuge
Only offered more stickiness
No stridulating from crickets
No twitter from restless birds
Neither cuckoos nor owls to be heard
Our crunching steps the only clamour
In that sweltering stillness
Under the blackness of dark clouds
Back home waiting for elusive coolness
The night hours slowly whiled away.
Lucette C. Bailliet
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