Death of a village
Slouched on the lap of the decrepit tope,
Steeped in the shadow of an elusive hope;
The smattering of brook around the grooves,
The whorls of dusts from the weary hooves,
The boatman's song sodden with grief,
The livid foams beating along the reef,
Splayed feathers in the drooping palms
Drop as hails on the burning culms.
The derelict byres and the rusting bells,
The thinning streams and the shrinking wells,
The famishing cattle and the deserted fields,
The empty barn that no more yields,
Under the scorching sun the village shrieks,
Tears of extirpation roll down her cheeks.
The burning chests and the shredding biceps,
The dimming eyes and the bleeding lips,
The cowering lasses, darning the hems,
The coughing urchins with distended frames,
No one could have ever said,
The village would so soon be dead.
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