It is a beating summer, <br />All the birds have left the dales. <br />It is a beating March, <br />All the rivers are dreaming for rains. <br /> <br />And in that sweat <br />I am listening to an endless clatter. <br />A track is being repaired, <br />Hammers are at work. <br /> <br />And under a shady bower, <br />Upon the lap of a swing, <br />A baby sleeps in soft dreams, <br />She is in the care of winds. <br /> <br />Her mother is hammering for life, <br />Sun is merciless upon her breast. <br />Now and then, she peeps unto the bower <br />And listens for a cry too supple for her breast <br /> <br />And the mother returns her eyes, <br />She is back into her routine winds. <br />Beyond a weighing hammer <br />She carries a weighing breast for a waking life.<br /><br />Ravi Panamanna<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-weighing-breast-for-a-waking-life/
