Palmlane
Standing on felled trunks and fallen leaves —
Desolate members of a fractured society —
Palms whose long and winding stretch marks emit
Brotherly sustenance among inherited groves.
Aroma hangs preciously on the unseen rafts of
Grottos of local ambience, opening and unlatching
The shut avenues of myth-making tradition.
I stand among them —these
Sober trunks of fertility, and grand crawling soldiers,
Whose water receptacles provide the gush of tasty
Deluge used in purifying man, in oiling the creaky
Joints of eternal being.
This lane and this vista —the laughing grounds of
A broken earth.
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