tin days roll away
the summer bleating in blonde chilled hay
the creeks are sighing raised their ways
in banks of crested hues of sheen
a memory of the seasons green
past through the florrid hurry dews
now dusted with the flurry hues
tin days have come
to stay

satin and sheen
of mornings frost
the labours of
a years cost
piled high in wood
for sighing stoves
preserves and
jams for tasty
loaves

glowing fresh as tomorrow
she sashayed in

a two bottle blonde
with lips lit soft
as jujube rubies

stacked
stiletto high
her slender waist
and second-hand swank
accentuated
a touchingly tender repose

she sighed,
a slow motion sigh
sliding a subtle heartwrench
into the scene

then,
a breathy,
breast heaving plea

"can you help me?"

being a man of sound body and mind
I blurted, "I dunno"

Seven long summers, I slept in your lap,
With thousands thirsty bugs in your sari
And millions mosquitoes over your head
Sucking all my jaundiced blood drop by drop.

In rainy days, I heard you cry and sob,
Seeing me take some stale rice and rat-smelt dal
And live on just two modest meals a day,
Turning myself into a bag of bones.

I used to wake up late to miss my milk,
And save some coins every cloudy morning;
My friends and field work used to freak me out,
You just warned me not to miss the tilting.

templeisen

into dark
the white falls
pure in its whisper

and like the life

running

freed
in freedoms
sake

sacrifice
for honour

beneath
a sky
wetted in winds
and tasted
in defeat