sábado, 12 de setembro de 2026

The hand of field labour

 We hugged each other and sat by the boundary fence of the hotel
We looked down toward the neighboring farms
Where labourers were happily labouring 

In the fields under the pantha sun
Picking fruits and vegetables in grand baskets
Their hands so delicate and calm
As our hands still shook from the city

From the agitation adn earthquakes we created
And as sweat beaded and trickled on our faces
Their faces shone dry unaffected by the warm weather
They moved about in magical grace as lumbered clumsily

We speculated on how perfect their lives might be
Their pains and hardships well hidden unseen

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