Mahadai Das

THE LEAF IN HIS EAR

Left, the golden leaf bears from his ear.
At eighteen, Bushman fighting to control diamonds
in his glass head. The waters of the river
swirl by.

I and I, Rastaman, with knotty India hair, has long ago, ceased.
The good Lord swallowed him up.
Into Guiana forests. North-west.
Dogs bark and howl.
In this first of May day, the Almighty is Rain,
voices, wind in banana suckers.