Your dark eyes <br />Bear a splattered tear, <br />You look burdened <br />With some queer frenzy. <br /> <br />A history peeps through <br />The heavy lids <br />That your eyes lift, <br />And you lift the goblet <br />Of red wine. <br /> <br />I admire the way <br />And the guts <br />You hold against <br />The ferocious wind. <br /> <br />Smiling you serve <br />The wine and the kine <br />That I dare not take, <br />And pull the bone off flesh <br />Like a potato from the sauce. <br /> <br />Your measured steps <br />And the cadenced flow of arms <br />At the trumpet <br />Tells how quickly you have learnt <br />The art of survival. <br /> <br />You lift the coat, <br />Tie up the loosened knot, <br />Pick up the old countenance, <br />And bade farewell <br />So humbly <br />That reminds me of my Indian friends.<br /><br />Harish k. Thakur<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-our-roma-host-serjo/
