Saturday, May 22, 2010

Curved lines.. (1)

Casket of flowers..

Five in the evening,

I was eight,he was eleven.

In the neighbourhood field,

He played ball,

While I made sand sculptures.

After his game,we went together,

To search for flowers n wild twigs

To decorate the sculptures made of

Mounds of sand..

That morning,

He had learnt from his father

How to sew flowers into a garland.

He stiched togetherjui flowers from his garden.

He placed it on my palm that evening,

When he came to play in the field.

Half crushed in his pantaloon pocket,

He wound the garland round my wrist.

While strolling back home,

I stubled and fell,

My frock was layered with dust.

Not knowing if I should cry,

He watered and cleaned the wound...


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