Hungry Eyes
The haggard bent on her aged staff
Wobbling and tumbling
Along the withered ballast
Two black long rods ironed leading
To her village dear lost long ago.
Hunger for her home of wombed breaths
Praying the jealous daylight not to set
The search continues in feverish light
Destination slow on uncarpeted roads
The country so bedraggled her eyes squinted.
Her birds do fly home soon tonight
Quilts to be aired to warm them tight
Time to burn the stove, broth to be cooked
But where is her hearth she cries in anguish
Her soul's obsession grew with ever hungry eyes
My hearth, my children! My hearth, my children!
FIRST
Balveen Cheema
August 20, 2015
Contest: Waiting
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