Lost soul of a homeland: A poem 

The foliage of tender immaculate memories 

prolific and vibrant like monsoon-fed trees 

And the harmonious inviting song of the seas 

with waves obliging my guiltless seeking knees 

And the squeak of relentlessly wetted sands 

between my toes and sifted by my hands 

Coconuts drifting, bobbing from far off lands 

Goats foraging noisily in shepherded bands 

Foxes stealing chicken stealthily from pens 

Cobras slithering silently out of their dens 

Childhood doesn’t ask what, why or when 

Innocence never reckons it will meet its end 

The country, in those days, never looked younger 

Its humble soul was not trapped by modern hunger 

It all seems to have dissipated in a crackle of thunder 

Hotels for tourists are not the fields in which to wander