This Is the Road
This is the road that leads to my father's home
It is old and dusty with bullock-carts creaking,
Carrying the heavy weight of the freshly cut sugar-cane
To the mills nearby for our sugar laden tables,
Piled in our court-yards are the freshly made cane balls
Tingling on our taste-buds with its melting ginger tang.
This is the road that zig-zags to my father's dear home
Cyclists are few carrying fodder for the cattle,
Trudging on the pathway with bundles on their heads
Farmers are spotted and responsibilities enumbered,
Carefree children running all asunder
The rural joys have much for us to remember.
This is the road lined with dancing mustard fields
Halt it will at my father's flowering doorstep,
My mother will be sitting in the verandah patiently
Peering her eyes in wait for her daughter to return,
Thirsty is her heart for her daughter's true love
Nestle will I in the warmth of her arms.
This is the only road that I always do treasure
Woven is it with memories to pleasure,
Every pebble and sand grain is drenched
In the sweat of my father's very long sacrifice,
My mother's footsteps are embedded in time
Leading me home with my finger she held.
(Second Place
May 6, 2016
For Nayda Ivette Negron
Memories)
(October 15, 2015
Contest: The Doesn't Fit
Sponsor: Carol Eastman)
June 26, 2016
For Laura Loo
Second Place
|