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August poem

August is sinister
I would not call it a month
of green love and blessings
it brings night to a sunny day
and who cares for those
houses that swim away
it was only yesterday
August had not come,
I would feel joy under their cheeks
swelled up cautiously and sleep on eye brow
for peaceful days and dreams of green green meadow
where are they? where are the happy days?
this havoc, the flood of pain, is the same water, you rejoiced in and prayed for days after days

Summer was better
they all said, sighed and hoped for another season to dawn.
hope, once and ever, we only have to have.

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