Like a serpent
the river meanders
into the many small tributaries
it flows with oozing ease
the simple and complex matrix
the rhythmic chaos of life.
The hot and humid dry wind
and the lip-cracked biting cold
in the arid wasteland of thatchy huts
the laborious pounding
of the thick pestle into the mortar
and the chirping of the birds up in the trees
the rattling of the empty metal pots
in the murky shadows of the creeping dawn
brings as in each and everyday
like ants crushed in the sand
building and rebuilding their trampled palaces
the quiet and tumultuous beat of the day's labor.
The congested and polluted shanty towns
and in the dusty and narrow sandy streets
the tintinnabulation of bicycle bells
the hooting of car horns
in the midst of the laughter and bitterness
the joy and sadness
and in the midst of the singing and wailing
the noisy and silent footprints on the trials of life.
In their cozy dwelling place
the welcoming warmth
in the sunshine of their blazing trail
and in the clattery corridors of politics
they are mute, detached and indifferent.
The voice of the market hail
and like the hub of a wheel
it pulls like a magnet strong
the flow of life expand
our river is flowing too
with its ups and with its downs
the canoe of life is rowing too
through ponderous waves
waves of uncertainty and bloom.
Rene
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