Ancient Anthills

They ate the carcasses of worms, drunk the blood Of ants, pests and rodents; So did this people who dwelt in these anthills. Till their ailing bodies wreaked, smothered with Pain and unrest. They crawled upon the ancient footpaths That led them, deeper and much deeper Into the densely and thickly thriving forests. No sunshine would they behold for days No cloudbursts could they hide their withering Faces from, he says. He says- Well, the old man says- I started living here Since distant ages ago Ages long gone and hard to come by. I stayed here, witnessed the moments When famine walked majestically Into the verandahs; It climbed unto the tops of The thatched houses having done with several Gallops and hops like the ill-timed movements Of birds on the corridors. Again, Blurts this man who swallows dozens of health- Sustaining, life-prolonging, divine herbal Medicinal pills; He speaks in accents that would Send The most insensitive hearts present in the bodies Of courageous men in this community throbbing, With ticks of uncontrollably wild laughter: A good gift should never spark a rift; Of the bottles and kegs of oil My forebears defended, kept and left behind For me, of these long-but-not-forgotten places of green Memories, may we ever scale past the huge mountains Before us, and always feed on its balmy substance Of wisdom.