The Empty Cowshed
The cowshed stands empty-silence has settled on the bamboo posts, where waiting is still tied.
The cracked earth will never again know the warmth of freshly drawn milk.
The woman of the house waits.
Even the wind has forgotten the scent of cattle.
The shed is ready.
But no cow returns from the market.
Before one could even be bought, his pocket filled with emptiness.
And in his eyes an unspoken waiting refuses to leave.
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