Tears well up in her eyes

the images flashing back

in the big house with uninhabited rooms

Habouring huge iron pots

Piles of wooden spoons, sticks and loads of clothes

aging clothes resonating the scent of nostalgia

the grass wilted in the sight of the swamp beyond

and no chirping of birds in the loud silence

mother is at a sleep, again ensconced in her chamber

She wandered the heated corridor

he stood at the sentry,

to one of the storerooms

for the fifth time he lurks

and waiting endlesslyto pounce on his prey

he caught her waist in a swirl

Her guts never failing.

Leading her on to skitter around the yard

As flies swarm the collapsing latrine nonchalantly

at the dead of the night.