The Kurinji Lamentations
- 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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