The dim kerosene lamp,
Soot-laden, warm but damp,
My friend’s Commie Dad,
Retired, hurt, eyes so betel red.
The musty smell of old rice,
Dried, dark plantain leaf and spice,
Broken benches, dust-embellished classrooms,
Graffiti marked sordid School walls.
The Teacher’s childless gloom.
Afternoon rice in our dried hand,
Little throats dread tired future parched,
The story of non-bailable debt unsaid.
The coir-fibre clay slimy wet,
The back-water’s soft moans in sweat,
Stains of brown all over,
Vine husky nymphoniac on stealth for cover.
The fisherwomen trashes up early morn,
I hear them heaves , previous whispers of roving landlord’s son.
Tonight, the lights on the water fill my heart,
Reflections in ripple sight.
House rich, cash poor!