Down the Shadow-tainted Road

Her fingers rake through
the fresh black earth.
Grainy sand digs into her nails
She scoops the aroma of rhubarb,
to the side.

And knows so well-
the touch of beets
Back arched, aching, kneeling for eternity
Thinking, thinking, thinking,
of her home in Punjab -
her piece of heaven.

The shade grants little comfort,
and her feet sink deeper,
into the soft dirt
Every tomorrow -
these imprints will be revisted,
under the same trees.

Dreaming of a bell's bright ringing,
from, the schoolyard days
She wanders,
Arduously,
Down the shadow-tainted road.

A Haughty Road, and Sing a Song of Peace

I am from a wood worn cabin
Where the old man Imagination lives
I am from the cloudless sky,
            Which I painted with a bristled brush
from the weeping trees, mist, Rosemary
scent before
Snow

I am from a crumbling gate,
A haughty-looking road
            Overbearing from use
Where my thoughts were bought,
Where the yonder,
always lost

I am from a meadow
The grass will never end
And the trees there-they rustle,
As they sing a song...
of Peace

Wolf 3

Wolf 2

Wolf 1