unfinished business in the sugarcane field

I am self confessed lunatic who eat flowers and wild grass after i grew up from a small impoverished village surrounded by sugarcane fields where rail road tracks ripped through our landless neighbourhood. As a child i anticipate for the incoming mechanized train and its endless wagon full of sugarcane cuts to fit the thresher of the milling giant. All the land around us are endless scenes of hard labor of landless tillers and sugar cane slashers. In memory of the childhood wakeful nights with the trembling ground, I snore like a genie out of the lamp when i burry my endless dreams in my pillow so i no longer keep a helpless anticipation of seeing myself alone in my mind. Bullets and guns are everyday meals in time of the offensive by the military. i was too young to understand the potilitical crisis and the leftist spite of bureaucracy. I remembered only a sympathetic feeling of victory when men of guns and blood sing a heroic hym after the fall of a police detachment right in the seat of government. This has planted enough fears in my frail young body the sprouted an incurable shyness until i learned to break out from a jazz beat. Later my lungs gasp for more air as i swirl to the various records imported from shores of taihiti and hulas from hawaii. Again my feet has walked many shades of sands again this summer varrying hues of gray and yellow and white, powdery and pebbled shores, finding its way home somewhere unknown. All feelings sewn in tapestry in the memory of an unborn child inside a mother's womb suckling the omens of love from an alcoholic father. I am born with complete set of ribs and kidneys and a pair of legs wishfully made for the olympics that earned gold at least up to the long jump and high jumps before i wore double panties for menstruation.

The green river of my childhood under the canopy of santol tree has taught me colors of the river in different seasons from moonsoon rains that bring swells when children ride banana trunks as rafts pinched by bamboo poles as improvised floaters that rides through the river currents gliding through the rural landscapes.