Past the farting mud, past the paddy fields

Smelling of still water and rich of paddy yields

Past a blue beetle glued on a grass blade

With white grasshoppers with white violins in its shade

Over steel gates smelling of recent sweat

Of low caste labourers and their low class fish net

Dark wrinkled women steal dry coconut leaves,

Winter will pass- the white grasshopper believes

When I entered the lair of the velvet mother,

She and I shivered at a sudden souther

But then suddenly, to calm us and stop time,

A beauty to dull the sun and cease poets' rhymes

Children raw and young yellow green were born,

Which ripened for the following fifteen morns

So the velvet mother and her yellow kids

Were used to delight the tongue and soothe eyelids

~Ajay

27/08/17