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The Kurinji Lamentations

  • Writer: Ebenezer Veerasingam
    Ebenezer Veerasingam
  • Dec 31, 2020
  • 1 min read

The radiant sun peeps again

Over the central hills of splendour.

The fresh tea mountains,

Carpeted by the green shoots of demand,

Are disturbed

By the sounds of the refreshing waterfalls

And the cries of the labouring human voices

From the arrays of shoddy habitation

Guarded by colonies of Gliricidia.


The soft wind that hovers

Over the highlands of tea bushes

Collects the accumulating deep breaths

And travels whirling over the valleys.

Not an inch does it move away

To speak out in comparison

The struggles of the hybrid generation

And the promises of the democratic chameleons.


The rough fingers that pluck tender leaves,

And the weakened backbones

That carry the baskets of economy,

Go to sleep

With tears of the emptied eyes

Flowing like rivers from the colonial springs.

The dreams of a better life,

Like cotton clouds that pass floating by,

Strengthens the fear of nothingness

And the ridicule of being

The samples of misplaced saplings.


The peaks of the green paradise

Like neatly combed hair,

Surprise the plucker's feet

With leeches and snake bites

Amongst the carefully grown bushes.

Unattended children in the gardens

And idling teenagers behind closed windows

Present the parents' daily evening return

With a shock!


Often referred to be the lost generation

Their memories still preserve

The painful moments of farewells decades ago

And the years of unbroken bonds with cousins

Over the little line of blue waters in history.


 
 
 

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© Ebenezer B. Veerasingam

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