through your words of mime

ii

his mother still mourns,
her husband had been a good man, after all.
a good father too.

and with good fathers come disciplined children,
two of them– this boy and his elder brother.

until two weeks ago,
his brother used to sell newspapers
early in the mornings,
yet now, as per "ancestral inheritance"
his brother adorns the rough gloves his father used to wear,
when he trudged about the farm.

and he is to ride the bicycle his brother used,
take upon the ten minutes of pedaling,
to reach the town square.

dawn melts away to present
a sunny morning,
as he rides down town.

the baker's kneading dough for his bakes,
an old lady watering her cactus,
he can hear and feel the sun rise,
bringing along with it the rush.

empty roads, now crowded.
empty trays, filled with bread.
empty cans, filled with fresh milk.

— yet it is hard to believe,
that the vacant two-story house of twenty years,
was now occupied by a professor and his daughter,
very new to town.