Memoirs Of Yore

Another morning
Breezing dry air
Of hot summer
Nightingale twoo too ing 
The ultimate of thirst
Of parched westerlies
Heating up the lands
As dry as can be 
so high as to deafen 
the twoo too.

In the farms of golden wheat
Fearing rain
In the dry land
Of dried lips
You thrashing the bushels
And I am harvesting.

How lighted it was
That late April night
As I throw the husk
Into the burning ambers
When you brought
A cup of steaming tea
To drown the thirst
Of gallons
Of water.
When the thunder squalls
Beat the tarmac
Covering the wheat
With stones,
Mission accomplished.

And I knew
How much you loved me
How much we cared
How much
We belonged together
In that lovely night.

                      ..... @Ramakant Pande