
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.