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Image from Google.com

Image from Google.com

Standing men, sitting, squatting, leaning

Waiting…waiting for the end of summer, too hot

And then for the end of winter, no warmth

Growing fat at first, fatter, almost exploding

From such comfort, such luxury, such beauty

Such ease of existence, perfect as moonlight

Bright as moonlight, welcome as moonlight

And then growing thin, growing thin, ugly

A year it’s been? A decade? How long

Before the feeling explodes in faces so pale

Feeling long forgotten like details of an old tale

Lost in memory like the lyrics of an old song

Feeling of longing, longing for feeling

A different kind of feeling; a connection

And if not, then a vivid recollection

Yes! That should do the trick, really!

Recollection of home as was long left

Memories of family, food and love

The sun shinning from up above

The craft that was done with fingers so deft:

Pottery, blacksmithing, tie-dying

Passed down from father-to-son, gene in the blood

Memories like flood

Of the dead and of the living

Of many sacrifices to appease the gods

Of chores at dawn and tales at dusk

Of tryst in the dark with feet buried in dust

Memories unleashed now like a darken dragon!

And thus the men are waiting, waiting, waiting

For the stint to end, there’s home ahead

Where tales of their waiting will soon be heard…

These are men, sitting, standing…waiting…

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