Friday, 1 February 2008

Counting Avocados.

The fleshy ripe ones.

I'd devour, in all its flavour.

A hue of golden brown,
Crisp yet soft,

Soaked in oil,
Olives fragrant.

I'd take in, aroma brilliant.

Sitting back, beyond the iron bars,
My hands long to reach forth,
To pull down the shades, just once.

Counting avocados, I sit back,
Fragrance welling in me,
I sit back.

Counting avocados, greenish ones,
Brown ones, golden ones,
I sit back.

Counting avocados, I sit back,
Waiting at the den,
For my time.

Frivolous thoughts, eh?
Don't raise eyebrows, no, no.
I don't want a frown, I don't need a smile.

Avocados or berries, plums or cherries,
All I can do is dream,
Savour the dreams,
Picture the scenes,
As I sit back,

Don't tell me you do care,
For, I, myself, ceased to.

For now, all I care is of avocados delightful.

Step back, ponder a bit, into yourself,
Before you term me insane,
And skip pages,

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