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(15 th April 1967 / , , RANCHI,)

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.. My Boll

He was tilling the field
Black soil for cotton yield
'Since time immemorial'


I told her, as a peasant
Putting on her head, a crescent
My cotton, you are my boll

I laughed.seeing her face
And the eyes roll
With a peculiar droll

Submitted: Sunday, November 24, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, November 26, 2013


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  • Shania K. Younce (3/28/2014 4:31:00 PM)

    I like the rhyming. Bien!

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