Here among columns of unseasonal rain
That hurtle through fields beneath kohl-stained clouds,
I've whispered our tales to leaves that are drenched
With moisture of tears unaddressed.
Plots that had seemed full of solace and shades
Have wound into debris of sharp, sullen rocks
That leave our soles black and red.
Back in the twilight of chrysanthemum days
With blossoms that had showered
And covered our ways,
Our eyes never measured these uncertain times
Where hyenas and foxes now hold their sway
With instincts of jungles as law.
Borne along waves full of dream-laden pearls,
We are stranded and lost amid seedless old rocks
That scorch our soles black and red.