Pebbles
Stones
washed
ashore
by
a
furious
sea,rushing
like
yellow
buses
on
a
frenzied
flight.
The
pebbles
washed
out
lay
like
an
abandoned
offering
to
an
unpunctual
deity
who
may
come
or
stay
back
to
make
supplications.
The
sea
in
rage
threw
them
at
the
feet
of
men,beast
and
the
wild
wearing
of
the
wind.
They
lay
there
like
orphans
in
an
enternity
of
sorrow:then
came
the
heavy
rains
of
the
moonsoon,the
sad
sunday
sun
and
the
wild
west
wind,and
they
laid
their
like
destitutes.
Then
one
day,a
forelone
fellow
came,wrecked
by
the
sea
and
thrown
to
the
shores.
He
squart
among
the
hapless
stones;picked
one
to
scrub
his
callused
soles,another
to
cuddle
like
a
chubby
child.
They
bonded
like
water
and
cassava
flour.
A
stone
in
his
hand,
a
million
lonesome
stones
on
the
shore.
He
picked
one
and
in
it
sparked
a
hopeful
glit.
He
sighed,
andlooked
before
the
sun.
A
pearl
among
pebbles?
An
end
to
his
troubles.
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