I chanced upon her
Clay-pot aloft her head
As I opened my mouth to speak
She halted in her tracks
droplets trickling down her smooth temple
She waved her left palm in distress; and
walked away towards the dying sun
I paced behind her in doggy-anxiety
Sword in my sheath sweating stiff
There and then I did it sloppy
Behind the iron grills
traversing the sands of time gone
Only if she was ripe enough
If she had persevered a little,
Inside this towering government fortress
barbed with electric wire and broken glass
fourteen is mine to pay
banished from the beauty again;
the ultimate price for a sloppy job.
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