Water for the stream

My wish and will ignored
These days pass
Like the honeysuckle’s wither
In the cold dry dust
I count them
And the bark
Peeling off the old mango tree
The bark falling
And the floating honeysuckles
Down to a certain destiny.
Those were the days
Of grandpa’s clean fields,
Where I fished with my friends
And drank the chilled water
From oasis of life.
As we grew our hearts broke
And before I was stiff
From the black crude that oozed out
I scratched down the sweet dream
To my now bleeding thigh
To remember the summer
And those times we dint care
We could walk on water

Now our gaze has grow cold
As a midwinter night,
Our face red
From the warmth of hot blood,
Toes tremble as it feels the water.
Now as I sit on the culvert,
Over the dead stream,
I wish with my life
for a red glowing sun.
For the coconut trees
at the edge of the dead stream
to shadow me,
And hold me a prisoner.
The trees and my thigh’s memory.


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