There is cricket in the sand
Summoning the children in excited bands
On our January silvery shores
We enact again our cherished lore
Reeds ripping upon earth’s womb
For tiny delicacies crying in burrows
Dreaming sucking their abdominal juice-comb
After toiling our faces into furrows
The sand is patterned with fanfare
Or, name it a hunting galore
We dig in earth in mock warfare
Through grains of sandy layered colors
Little, adventurous feet lapped in waters
On rich, friendly, stretched banks
Beneighbouring liquid life in infinitesimal litres
Our feet still pattered and sank
With live victuals we race for the fire
If you try to stop us, you are the lier
We get flown over by the birds
But missing a cricket really feels weird.
meet the poet: Torty Abasi Tortivie
