A son skims through the weeds
To pick a fallen coconut that pants on the canal ripples.
But the creeping death in secrecy of the weeds
Engraves the last flashing hours on his calf.
He dares not to tell it to his father,
Who lies like an earthworm with his sense
Being fallen in to the rum bottle, but the anxious
Son waited return of his coolie mother.
The sun is sinking down in his eyes,
And the simple joys are freezing in the venom.
"Please tell them, mother, save me somehow”,
A wish before death dribbles out of his mouth.
A black ambulance returns, staggering
Through the gravelled lane of the tattered heart.
A glass vase is fair, but as it breaks,
Shattered pieces are poignant and pricking.