25 AUGUST 1928, Page 16

Poetry

Indian Summer Night

OVER the flat roofs Of the white-walled city Glowers the last moon Of the dread hot weather ; Moonlight as clear, black shadows cast as deep As if a day were only half asleep.

Heavy the air is With the smell of dry dust, Cooked ghee, and mangoes ; The harsh scent of bins

Floats on the stagnant breeze which seems so sta'e

Even the leaves must cease their rustling tale.

On all the house tops Lie brown, sun-tired bodies Stretched on bare charpoys ; Only is the silence Broken by someone murmuring wearily, Seeking for sleep where sleep can never be.

• That and the echo Of the jackals howling, Shrieking in triumph Round some carrion morsel . . .

Just that, and silence ; as remorselessly The stifling, sickening hours come crawling by.

Over the city

In its deathly, stillness,

Patiently waiting Through a sleepless darkness, Till, rolling up towards the dawn-split sky, Rings from the minaret the muezzin's cry. A. R.

U.