I saw it quite clearly,
Yet i was no more than a glimpse,
It was the rich yellow,
the yellow of sun-ripened mangoes,
The 'opioro' mangoes of my youth,
It surface marred by dark spots,
like the painting of a three year old,
The veins crawled like serpentine lumps,
Its end was suspended,
Tightly in the kid's mouth,
He was drawing life,
His mother's gaze disinterested,
the eyes of one who had seen it all.
Yet my eyes remember,
that brief glimpse,
Under the midday sun.
Scriblerian
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