The roads bear a deserted look,

As the hot sun bakes up every nook,

But the neem tree in the garden,

Casts a cool shadow like a loving warden,

The sap in its trunk is bitter,

Yet the leaves shine with glitter,

A tanned laborer works in the sun,

As rivers of sweat down the body run,

He looks up at the green neem tree,

Then sets off to his work with glee,

Both of them bear the burn,

With cold grit they mock the sun,

I stand at the window witnessing the craze,

Determination has the power to bear any blaze.

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