We work our ambulation hard
While we talk , a thinking juice
Flowing,finding selves in jungle
Recesses, coves of mango birds,
A green smelling hope of dawn
By a new sun near dark foliage
Where he retired previous day.
We will now come upon layers
Of burning coals, while we walk
Tree after tree, our eyes riveted
To the flames lighting up the sky.
The season for a forest of flames
Is up for bold and superstitious
Fire-walks,holding our lungis up
To keep at bay the evil spirits
We had left at previous dusks.
While we hold lungis up and walk
The fires, the wind is our balloons
And there shall be another round
Of laburnums splurging in the sky
With lazy dogs lying under them
Busy with tail flies,not looking up
At their strutting yellow flowers.
But that is one more walk poem.