Sweet Water Coconut

The Sun blazes in full radiance,
the mercury soars to kingly proportions,
as sheets of dust blow in turbulence,
the parched tarmac bellows hysterically,
trees shriek in disbelief,
vulcanized rubber groans in despair,
as the sandstorm vocalizes its arrival.

Every eyeball gets averted,
to the green tripod of cool water,
stacked in gay abundance on thick jute sacks,
hailing from tall timber with slender branches,
deriving its nutrition from the pure wet sand,
christening it as the darling of all lands.

Colossal crowds flock the asphalt,
drifted by thirst and scorched excitement,
with sweaty palms, icy bandannas,
awaiting encounter with the hard green shell,
fingers clinging currency notes,
the queue shifts at a meandering pace,
as I finally get my chance,
to savor the natural taste in a coconut.

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