Everywhere I go, I see a million colours,

a sky splashed in splendour and superlatives,

a universe drunk with multitudinous fluids

The river is white; the mountains are blue;

the fields are yellow; the forests are red,

even the trees are on their broken knees,

pleading to be fondled like flowers,

and for some invisible hands to cuddle them,

lend them divine hands with healing fibres,

that speak of generations in waiting,

like a woman pregnant on pregnancy.

It's impossible to stay sane in summer.

The clothing of summer is forever sunshine,

that lasts longer than the season’s ending;

moments of sacred joy, sizzling jubilation,

when caution grows feathers to fly to the sky,

when wisdom loses its attachment to time,

and forgets the foundation of its existence;

it’s the whole fountain of heated bliss

when nakedness is culture, smiling is custom;

what the sparrow whispers to the wind,

the shadows in the wing of the eagle echo.

Whether it's the tortoise without legs

walking a thousand kilometres in a day,

or the duck that flies into the clouds without wings,

when summer arrives, there's a wonder for all

whose heart drives them crazy with happiness.

When the light of the moon sits in the sky,

those without feet are hungry to take a walk.

Knowing that happiness is the loudest parrot,

perching on mountains while bathing in a river,

singing to the world till the gong of winter rings,

will not help us lose what we have in time,

but listen and hear the laughter of the sky,

where the stars make a preamble for diving,

that when Autumn comes, summer is not behind;

the season of ice cream and sun cream,

bodies shedding blood rather than water,

as the dead have drunk dry the sky.