Dew drops

Photo coutesy: Archana Bahukhandi

Blades of grass
tickle my naked feet.

The expanse of green
at the local park
is too luscious to resist.
I yank my shoes with untied laces.
Socks follow shoes
as I step on the grass
and let the swords of green
succumb
to the grey weight of my dark thoughts.

Yes, summer in Doha
gets to me.
I feel trapped
in the oppressive heat of forty seven degrees.

Soaring mercury
imprisons
humans in air-conditioned cages of homes and offices.
Cold and lonely
feels summer.

I rise before the sun
to go out,
to breath,
to walk,
to think
and to feel alive again,
despite the seventy percent humidity.

The green rapiers
rip through the web of negativity I've entangled myself in.
A smile escapes.

"Thank you, dear grass."
I say.
"I trample and yet you give.
You are awesome!"

"Spare a thought for the dew drop."
grass replies.
"She touched you too, you know.
I'm here, but she's no more.
Did you feel her cool embrace?"