On dusty country roads Dad drove us
towards Grandmother’s plantation
curving between trees past neighbours’ huts
where chimneys billowed from hot hillsides
and the earth glowed.
The sun hung like a yolk spreading;
school pressures dodged back as a figure
on a platform when the train goes out.
And in the car time stood still
the way it does for those who love.
Somewhere on a slope amidst the
brown and green chiaroscuro an old man
sat doing nothing in a doorway.
A child wearing only a string of beads
round the hips played with a patch of dirt.
And a young woman naked to the waist
was carrying buckets of water back down the hill.
When the car stopped we entered a house
with windows translucent from heady kitchen
steam and Nanna was waiting to be kissed.
Then like so many islands food was laid out
on the big round table. But, don’t ask
if it was a table of discipline
or a table of blossoms; don’t ask if I
was resolved at last to study hard and
forget the boy with bangs and dimples.
We ate among helpers and low voices.
We were quiet until we were spoken to.


  1. This is very beautiful even within the sadness.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much, Nico. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Blessings. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

  2. It felt like I was reading a diary.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Ankit. Yes, it is a diary of sorts.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. This is so luxurious, it’s crazy! You gifted soooo much here….and left me a different place entirely than the one I thought we were going. Wow. Sending love and going to read again. ❤️❤️❤️

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Katy, you are such a blessing.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. “You’re talkin’ ’bout Yourself, now!” 😊💖☀️

        Liked by 1 person

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