In the tongue of his village
in its native cadence,
A poet sang of his people and their soil.
To share his verse
he journeyed to the distant metropolis
No one knows
when or if
he will return
Back in the village
strangeness grows
like thorn-fences rising
like wild creepers spreading unchecked.
Festivals, colors, and clamorous pride
spill over
while trees, ponds, and bonds of kinship
scatter and fade away.
The poor poet
he took that road once
who can say
When or how will he walk it back?
And yet
from the heart of the village,
a poem set out on his trail,
seeking its way
into the city.