Sun-scorched rock (Thalapahata)
When the sun-scorched rock, long-thirsting in drought,Is kissed by rain, a strange, earthy fragranceUsually rises to greet the air—But today, I do not sense it. Wasps hum softly,Lingering upon the tender areca blooms.And I, with a voice adrift,Sing of my life—Unknowing where its beginning lies,Where its middle rests,Or how its end will come. Once, I…
