A poem about grasping to the future
I drag the minutes over, The threatening calm of still water, Like a yawning tiger waiting idly, For the next roaring herd to pass by. Waiting by the doorstep for you to deliver, Life, milk, bloodshed, and flesh.
I sit with my empty stomach, I close my eyes to better sense, The ground beneath me shaking, With thousands of pounding hooves, Kicking up dust on barren earth.
Intoxicated by the promise of bounty, And drenched life-baring monsoons.