Sadness

I saw an interview with a famous singer (Portuguese)
He was talking about his childhood and began crying
Not tears in the corner of his eyes, but veritable flood
Of tears; looking at him I felt his sadness, whatever
It was that the arrow of the past had hit him hard.
This made me think of my own childhood and loses
But it was so long time ago, and I have made peace
With ancient dramas.
Nevertheless, I sometimes feel a profound sadness
Of the bygone, and that my life took a turn which
Was not the way I wanted it, but as the saying goes?
You can’t have it all; acceptance is the crucial point
That the situation you are in has to be tolerated.

Across the bridge


a carriage pulled by two horses.
master and slave
linked in a common
destiny.
One was an icon
held up for us to see
equality
among the two
what should have been done
didn´t happen
guilty by omission.
So hopeless
burning vast bin in the street
is that all?

When women rule

Today at the hospital my walked
on crutches ten meters on the way and the same
Distance back. Her swollen ankles were slim and downright **** thought of patting
her on her ample *** resisted
she said this act was gross.
How am I to argue we live in the century?
Of women in charge woo the man who did something
that could be construed as an act of invasion
he will be found out even if it happened 35 years ago.
The best he has to get a job as a street cleaner hopefully
or a prison warden, not a judge.
So think well all you masculine men what you did
when a mere teenage, hope no one will remember.

kismet

A strange sound in the village, not an alarm
It went on in short intervals
Perhaps they were tasting something we
We were not a part of.
After some time, the sound went on me
Nerves it frightened me it was
The doom-laden telling of times to come when
Our world is aflame and hurtles through space
And all gold melts.
Ashes to ashes that is the way it goes

The view
looking out of the window facing inland
I see a petrol station painted green and across
the station a shabby supermarket with
an incompetent staff yet an excellent place to go
if you need to buy milk.
Buying wine is not recommended they don't
know how to store it and the wine goes off.
The road below me is as usual full of traffic
that flows to fast.
I can't see the upland the view is closed
by ugly blocks of flats too cold in the winter
too hot in the summer.
I sigh, return to my terrace that faces the sea
and dream of my youth back when I was a ****** and old age an abstract thought.

look-alike

my look-alike
was a book-keeper
I was one too
But got bored,
Joined the navy
I have not seen my look-alike
For forty years.
There is a mirror
In the hall
Tell me of times gone.
He has sent me a thousand email
But it feels like
I have sent them myself.
I want to be free of him
He occupies
Too much space in my head
But, the chain isis unbroken
It has roots stretching
Across the globe.
Finally, we will
cross the river together.

Rose poem about animals

A word- fish is not at ease with carpentry
it uses its natural weapon for hunting other fishes
which is ok for us when lost on a raft
in the middle of the ocean.

A blue whale is too big to be used as circus
entertainment there not a tent big enough to house it.

Relatively expressed It is about an aquarium, size.
Onlookers would be drenched when it turns around
Simply because they have no big umbrella.
extremities of this sort should be left in the ocean

August Promise

Every year I say, come August and I will go to Norway
but every you’re the flight ticket goes up, when mulling this over
it is suddenly, September wonder-full is the weather
of the sun, clouds and occasional rain.
The rain in Spain does not fall in my vale the lake is dry has for years
nevertheless, in September, there is a new spring
green grass and flowers more demure in colours
So, what, I hear you say, and I agree beauty does not need to be explosive
as we have had enough of car bombs and other colourful devices
killing people whose only crime is a lack of dress sense – a black bra under a white blouse
and tasteless golf pants.
Long walks for us elderly we look up and for a fleeting moment
Ask rather banal questions,
something told at bible classes we endured at school
“who created this wonder?”
God never gets the blame when storms sink ships, and there is landslide
volcanic eruption, not to forget the endless war the smell of cordite drifting afar.
We have the fallen angel (the devil) to blame for that.

he milking cows


cows originally had small udders after all
they had milk for a calf and when needed could run very fast
quicker than a man.
They were hunted like we hunt elk today, until someone
hungry tried to drink its milk and found it nourishing.
It was a eureka moment,  and we domesticated the cow.
The bigger the udder, the better the cow.
It is not natural to see a cow with enormous udder they
is a freak of nature but highly regarded by the milk industry
and look comical when trying to run.
The big udder has passed over to the way we view women
a big breasted woman is admired.
We don´t need so much milk anymore there are alternative
to milk by using plant-based products to make cheese and
yoghurts, it is time to let the cow be normal again

The future
There are moments when I wake up at night
and think of my death.
I know I will be instantly forgotten like
the great journalist Christopher Dickens
who died suddenly in Paris.
His friends will miss him but they
too will talk less about him as time goes by
I think it must be like this to be forgotten
as new people inherit the world
often for the wrong reason.
This new time frightens me although I shall
not be there and see it.
My hope had been for a friendly world, but
it looks like worse is to come and I see before
a spent globe hurtling through space.

New driving license

Going to the doctor make me nervous
I was renewing my driving license and feared they would say
no, you are too old and have many illnesses.
It was not so bad
I had to read the letters from a chart on the wall
the doc whispered something I had to repeat, And that was all.
Except I can´t drive faster than 90, that was no problem. as
I'm a slow driver at the best of times.
If stopped by the police, I will ask them for their tattoos a new rule today is that police have a tattoo that can be construed
as being of a racist nature( one wonders if this also include
naked women) have six months to remove them.
I have in my life at sea, never had a tattoo done this is because I'm not too fond of needles.
Now that I have diabetes, I use a needle every morning one gets used to what one dislikes.
We live at a time when everyone takes offence for bagatelles,
like throwing statues into the sea, it will not erase history which
when all is said is not flattering for the white man, if we keep
a narrow historical view on these things.

Haiku

A Stygian poem
can be  written in daylight
by the deadly lake.


In the lake of love
she was dead as an unsaid poem
the sun too drowned.

Seven dead nuns in a boat
had succumbed by a sea of prayers
oars dripping tears.

Dawn´s sky


Dawn, the sky is lit up by the unseen sun
clouds from the ocean were coming in they looked rain heavy
not a sound broke the stillness.
This the last day of the year and he was still here on the terrace
able to see the birth of a new day and he was privileged
the world had given him a gift.
The night had been restless and fearful, the thought of his death
had disturbed him, no point resisting the oncoming it was futile
he had said to himself and the dark night.
He felt a chill the rain was coming in faster than he had thought
He got inside, made a coffee and warmed food from yesterday
Feeling good he had always been frugal it was his way

The mysteries of religions

Why are there so many religions?
one for every culture.

They the faith grows like mushrooms
in a glade after rain and rot.

Disappear into the forest floor and
a new religion emerges from the soil.
                      
                      
Fertilized by prayers and rules made
by those who see them self as clerics.

Many of those who believe in this fantasy
are ready to die for their faiths.

Mushrooms in the dell keep growing
but we turn a blind eye to their demise.

Let Iran live

Those who want a war in Iran, ought to look
At the people in the street, shopping laughing a good time is had.
Millions of them will be killed and maimed by war is as idiotic as it is senseless and solves nothing. Other
than giving more power to the Saudis and the elephant
in the room which tactfully not mention.
I ask Europe not to give in to” a coalition of the willing” you
Plant bombs, **** people on others behalf
And call it democracy.
If you do the retribution will be endless

The Trolls

Several storms came outside the building
they had argued out there in the Atlantic
about which way to blow and now a fight broke out
screaming around the edifice, but mainly outside
my windows trying to get me to take a stand.
They were trolls that had been made homeless
when they built a railway tunnel through
the Dovre Fjell in Norway and the engineers had
spoken badly about their homes said they were filthy
and was full of goats bones.
They knew of me since I befriended a troll who sat
under a wooden bridge waiting for a kid.
I had shown the troll how to fish for trouts and salmon
a change of diet become the trolls well.
I´m too old I said, you have to find a boy of eleven
years old, he will help you; you see, they don´t believe
in trolls in Portugal.

Once Greenland
Had bananas
Monkeys sat in trees
Snakes in the grass.
Then it colder
The jungle vanished
Ice took over.
Yet
The Vikings
Did farming
Had cows
And root plants.
When it got too cold
They took the cow
Home
To Norway
In longboats.
The clime
Had changed
Now it is changing
Again.
Will, it ever snow
In New Delhi.

Blessed Sunday

A sigh of relief Christmas is over
a few loose ends here and there
but the local shop is open
I need milk for my morning coffee.
Freedom at last released from
shackles of festivity.
We have house guests that are Ok
they have their quarter
and sleep late.
Raining, I have to drink black coffee
I don’t mind, what is great, is the peace.
Yesterday I printed a manuscript
“Equinox,” finally, I must say
one guest repaired the printer, gave him
wholly socks as presents.
So, let the day march on. I don’t care.

Cobwebs of the impossible

It was a clear day…too lucid, perhaps.
Mother sat in the kitchen; the sunlight made her white hair into a halo.
I asked how old she was?
Ninety-two, she said I knew this was not true she didn´t live that long.
By the slow river, I saw furniture drifting along,
brother said people living downstream went upstream to buy furniture
to save on transport costs they dumped the furniture in the river
and picked up when they came floating by.
Sometimes they lost a table or a commode, a risk we all have to take.
Walking along a soft road in the forest, but something was wrong
I was trapped inside a painting by a mad Russian painter,
Where trees emitted light of wonder, and my mother was 101 years old
I had a knife, cut the painting in half and walked out.
Sometimes the line between reality and subconsciousness merges
perhaps yesterday is today.

The freak of nature

There is a tiny islet in the foggy Saragossa sea
it has no name since no self respecting explores
would put his name on it.
However, it had a Vulcan that erupted and when
the lave stream cooled seagulls found it a good
place to nest.
Something strange happened some of the eggs
grew huge and when hatched had a wingspan
of 3metres and they were not of a friendly
disposition.
Glutinous they attacked goats and bigger prey  
and lone fishermen in their rowing boats it was
so you could not go to sea getting supper with
carrying a shotgun.
It so happened the birds were infertile a freak
of nature, but as birds they are long lived, if you
to the sky.

The idyllic painting

I remember it well
The dirt road
The neglected
Domestic landscape
Growing wild
Tall
Ongoing battle
Freedom
For the strongest
I walked
Into the painting
Wore clogs
Yellow dust
Behind me
Going north.

The old sea-gull

The old one-legged sea-gull
sat on my roof near the chimney
if felt the cold, scanning the sky.
Once it had been the captain on the outer reef
and fought many a battle to sit on his crown
Someone took a shot at it, and it lost a leg,
together with oncoming elderliness, it left its kingdom.
Took refuge on my roof and lives of scraps of food.
It is still standing proud, but it can´t be hidden
the decline that overcomes us all.
Like the sea-gull, we have to battle on, be dignified
of the onset awaiting us.

How it happens

In a cavern, a black rose. so rare it became
a religious symbol, no one could get near to see its beauty
but the guardian could not keep away the bold.
They found a black nylon sock given to a *****
by the salvation army, thrown away and forgotten.
The rose represented a powerful symbol, the tale of the *****
was rejected, the conspiracy theorist asked: why had the ***
thrown away one sock and not two?
Given a choice, we prefer beauty over truth and the black rose
became a place of worship, a place of pilgrimage,
hotels were built, and the restaurants opened, and the business was fine
until the day the virus came…

So many IFS
If the world had been more caring
If we had been less selfish
If the world had been at peace
If Palestine had been free
If Israel had not adapted the **** regime
If we had shown more respect
If hatred had been less
If we had more passion for what’s right
If, by law, we could stop wars.
If nature had been taken care of
There might be a chance for those
Coming after us.

Verity

Telling the truth to people close to you
is a difficult feat, the accusations and repercussion
can be dire.
When you puncture the picture where they see
themselves as helpful people.
The unvarnished truth is they will rob you blind
and expect you to be grateful.
Those who were your friend will not help you
for them, assistance have a pecuniary aspect,
If you let the trespasses against you slide, you will
think of yourself as a coward; and those who were
your friends will feel contemptuous of you.

The war we started
I’m the few people alive during the German war against Norway,
But all told, it was a football game compared what’s coming
And the children will suffer cruelly in a world is burning and
There escape from sea, land or mountains tops, there will be
Few children who will survive not enough to blame us for
The hell we unleashed. The adults who protested were either
Ignored, shot or ended up in long term incarceration for daring  
To warn and tell the truth.
The guilty of this mayhem those who think they can survive
Will find themselves slowly roasted in their caves, calling upon
A god will not help them these killers of the future leaving
the children nothing of worth to leave for the light has gone
out when our plant is emptier than an eggshell

Red Indians


This afternoon was spent watching an old western movie
it was the usual stuff cavalry in spotless uniforms
sitting on tall horses facing a bunch of extras playing
the Indians appeared incredible stupid, were rounded up
and herded back to their dry reservation and poverty.
First time I saw the movie 40  years ago, we laughed a
the Indians they were like a pantomime act how could they
ever rule themselves?
Sometimes I think the Israelis see the Palestinians this way
they have no weapon are reduced throwing stones at soldiers
who no longer care to **** them only knee-cap them.
***** Palestinians living in filth, and no think how it came about.
Israel can stop their water supply at a whim.
Oh, those Arabs when are they throwing in the towel and become
quaint people tourists will flock to see.

The forenoon strolls


Dressed in a solid jacket the old man goes for his walk
First, he goes and buys a paper have coffee at a café
To read a bit, the woman at the newsagent smiles at
Calls him sir, her guard is down, the nice woman of fifty,
And can be her pleasant self and he falls in love.
He walks the grocery buys milk and eggs, the woman who
Also calls him sir, he loves her too.
He walks home, and his wife opens the door and, he loves her
More than before.
He sits on the sofa resting his legs and does as many old
Men do fall asleep.

The old soviet-union

It must have been winter when the old tank skip
Sailed through the Dardanelles into the Black sea
Which was full of ice flakes.

The ship was loading oil in a town I have forgotten
The name of, but I do remember it was sparse
On-street lights had a wide boulevard and few cars.

We found a restaurant in a building the looked
An office block, we ate caviar and drank white wine.
A place for the Nomenclature in ill-fitting suits.

The old soviet - union still existed in all its dullness
And general sadness, which I think is over now
people who make good wine can’t be kept down.

Got up early went down to the garage
practised to driving the car out and reversing it back
four times, I did that until I was able to not
hit the furniture at the end of the garage.
Drove around the town by avoided the centre
I dislike the strange people who throng the streets
usually dressed in hideous shorts, white socks
And sandals, walking in the middle of the road
Taking pictures of old buildings.
Drove along the outer layer of the town and
looked for shops that could be useful.
It is peaceful to drive alone and not having
anyone is telling you how to drive.
I have to go to another town tomorrow where my bank is, followed the coastal road
and found it. Practice makes perfect.
I bought a big bottle of beer for my six o'clock
Drink, but my wife and the cleaner had
Drunk it all since they had been busy put
Clothes on shelves, I know I will not find a thing
Women's sense of order is different from mine.
I had been a splendid Sunday, but now I have to
go out and buy another bottle.

memories

The bus is full, and the kettle is on the boil
Three children are playing on the beach
One will be a businessman one will be an architect
And the third one will be a contrarian
Critical of the social orders.
The problem with remembering childhood
Is that we are recording a thought time everything
Is accurate and also fantasy how it should have been
But never was.
A few, if they go deep enough to remember a scary
World punctuated by rain and sleet
Dangerous adults doing unspeakable things
Alcohol and fighting.
So, if you must tell your story of everlasting summers
And happy school days.

Don´t walk on the grass

Do not have thoughts and opinions  
That is not the official western version of democracy.
Do not tell gags that is funny, it will upset someone
that find it invasive and crude
Humour is not comical especially if irony is involved.
We are living in a woke time and like covid disappear
In the meantime, be careful of what you say.

Wordsmith

When writing shall we dare call it poetry
I, because of my lack of academic learning
cannot seek inspiration the classics,
except for the god Sisyphus which
I find funny realising I'm laughing at self.
The lacuna between me and poetry I have
tried to fill with words, one day I can build
a park for lovers,
At my relative old age which is no more
then a blinking star I have read hundreds
of books that have been stuck on my mind.
A few writers name are remembered,
most of the American writers, sprinkled
by Norwegian and Russian authors.
When writing I draw from this well
what I need to cobble together the wisdom
which is everlasting, because I'm bringing
forward what has been said before me.

They call it love
We sit in the hospital waiting room
when your name is called
You get up slowly still wearing a crutch.
You walk a bit lopsided.
Your coat is inside out
this is because it’s raining
and you want to protect the colour.
You are elderly now, but still beautiful inside.
Feel like getting up embracing you,
but instead get up and have coffee
in the vending machine.

Racism

Where are the war graves of the 350 thousand soldiers?
Who fought and died for our wars?
Most of them were black or Indians.
No neat war graves for them, and the racism has not changed
since the wars of our making.
The nearest we can come to honour them are names written
In a ledger.
I think there is a racist in every white man’s heart this often
Because the school system was racist, telling of white men’s
Exploits in India or Africa telling us we brought civilization and
To countries that already had an ancient past.
Oh, you wretched white man, when are searching your heart
And free yourself of the racist mentality.

Haiku


Early evening
The day gives way tonight
The child cries.

Tranquil is the sea
Ripples onshore as tar
Absent is the wind

Autumnal darkness
Impatient winter waits
Storm knocks on windows

Frost cracks on timber
Snow makes the land secretive
Will there be a spring?

Spring after rain-fall
Aromatic is the landscape
Broods climbing trees

Drowning animals


Humanities problem is that we don´t care
about animals well-being, there is scant respect.
A ship, probably old, took a freight of thousands of cattle
to an Arabic country so they could be slaughtered
according to religious law.
The ship sank in a storm.
Can anyone imagine the horror and suffering of animals
drowning in a sea of not their choosing, and how many
animals the ship carried to their horrific death?
This trade-in live animal is a sin against decency; it does
not for a moment regard the stress the creatures suffer.
Is there not another way.
There is, but this lucrative brutal trade will not stop unless
done so by law.

Sassoon and Owens?
The learned men spend much time in libraries
to find about their private life,
dissecting poems to find the banal truth
about two men, “as no men love for long.”
I have read some of their work and my Scandinavian
soul find them a bit “over the top” perhaps feminine
In their endless longing lurking under the surface
Of the excellent verses.
They wrote famous lines. Therefore, they are celebrated.
Their gayness or not is too prosaic to mention.

So, Brexit is finally over and it with
a sigh of relief we see them leave the scene
pain in the *** for too long.
The haughty manners and arrogance
of the British delegates who never agreed
on anything delegates from other nations
always demanding preferential treatment,
became a constant irritant for others.
You see, Britain was once an imperial nation
And it is their blood to push others about.
Just like the USA does today.

Playfulness

Early morning
the rain has fallen in the night
inhale freshness
“morning has fallen”
makes me think of a fat man
who fall because
he has not tied his shoes properly.
I can´t remember the song
but I think feel it is beautiful
My soul is sentimental
I avoid churches
the ***** music makes me weepy
I don´t know why the ******
***** sounds awful on its own.
Sorry.
I was writing a Haiku but got lost
in the jungle of words

I am not a poet
verse writing is for the daft
with nothing to do.

Look people that was a haiku.

At the hospital
I had an appointment
It appears my kidneys are in a bad shape
Due to my diabetes.
Leaving with this glad tiding
I went the wrong way out
And was brutally stopped by a **** guard.
I pushed back
And we ended up in a fight
that was stopped by my nurse
Who whispered something in his ear?
He let go.
I needed a ***, he wouldn´t tell me
Where the toilet was
The revenge of the small people.
I took my ***** out ready to *** on the floor.
They hastily showed me the loo.
The guard said: don´t be so impolite,
And I said do not ever touch me again
And made a ****** salutation.
When this happened, my wife was sitting
In a waiting room trying to call a cab
I told her nothing.
The problem with diabetes it attacks the body
And the mind.

Happiness is

Flour, yeast and water
mix it well
let the leaven rise
with hands of humility
kneed the dough into bread
bake them well
bread has a crusty top.
Look at the loaf
you make so early in the morning
and be happy

The fun at a house of ill repute

I sat down with the best intention to write about flowers
love and bees, this made me think the ***** house had plastic flowers
and that is apt as it is
not a place for romance, red roses and chrysanthemums.
I have had much fun at these places, not only the *** part
but also, the laughter and dancing.
The women liked a sailor and the possibility of further romance.
I know of ****** who married former prostitutes and
their marriages have normally been happy ones.
Time has changed, the women are victims of men’s ****** advances
and buying and selling of, flesh other than pork is outlawed.
Just as well, now girls in this trade are called *** workers
compared with the cleaning ladies and so forth.
Cold cash on the table, the price depending on the position
like asking the char to go out and **** the garden, well you
have to pay extra for that.

Never a mother


She was a rescued dog a tiny mite
lost in the wilderness of man and left to die.
A shivering whelp, it was a cold day
held her under my coat the trembling stopped
she fell asleep.
At the time I was rebuilding a ruin I had no
furniture only a camp bed.
I put the puppy on some canvass the workers
used when painting, and she wouldn´t hear of it
she ended up sleeping on the pillow.
A few months later, I had her spayed since I was
not sure whether staying or going back to Norway.
Thirty years later, I´m still here.
The dog, I named her Bambi,
when an adult sometimes looked mysterious,
stole from the basket of the ***** laundry building a nest behind the sofa place by the wall.
She spent most of her time there, but after a few
days, she forgot all about it and wanted to run in the forest chasing rabbits.
I regretted robbing her of motherhood, but my intention was good,
had I left her chances of survival would have been better not having
a litter to take care of in an unfriendly world.

a new day

early morning, silent morning
the building is still sleeping, the few cars
driven by those who start early for work
could be bakers or cooks beginning their shift.
A lone ship is still anchored in the bay
it is an old ship waiting for a charter, the cook
is up must prepare breakfast he has a long day
ahead of him he is on the deck peeing
into the sea and smoking a cigarette before
going back into the galley.
More cars are filling the road and the small
supermarket, near the petrol station, is open
it has a counter and sells coffee and cakes.
The building is waking up toilet flushes, door
slams, voices, a new day has begun.

Time past

Now that I have stopped writing I can say
I never cared for rhyming poems, that tend to make me irritable.
I have tried to overcome my petulance
by not eating a bottle of aspirin but the furthest I got was haiku
which need not rhyme.

I can´t stop my head from writing sometimes it composes poems
in my sleep which I could have written down, but refrain from
doing since I have stopped my verbal creations.
From my window, I can see the petrol station not a work of art,
but I can see children splashing about in the pool and long for home.

I prefer to see children at a distance, near they make me nervous,
which is wrong I remember my childhood with trepidation
Arguing adults and bombs that fell at night, a flash of light scanning
the sky and the darkness were total. For bathing children, life is better,
but they too fear the adults.

The survivor



The pandemic has taken its toll, the survivors have fled to the woods
the town is full of mice, rats have decided to stay in their sewers
and sea-gulls get fat.
The mice use the zebra crossing and should a car come along
the driver will stop; he is trained to do this.
He-the driver- drives into town where runs out of petrol, sits there
and watches as the sea drain away like bathwater down a plug hole.
He needs insulin and walks home; it is a long walk.
At home, he gets his medicine and fry some bacon and bake a potato
in the micro-oven.
He wonders about his doctor whether she made it into the woods,
collect berries, good for the heart and slimming too.
He sits on the terrace and looks at the sea that is no longer there but
full of dead fish the will stinks for days.
He then switches on the TV and watches endless re-run of himself.

The Fear

I don´t mind to be old it is a natural progression
what I fear is poverty, I know what it is to be poor.
I react if sensing my funds are in any way exposed,
sometimes I over-react and lashes out.
There is nothing good in scarcity not being able
to drink a glass of wine, to eat crumbs from the rich.
To beg for food or go to a food-bank get canned
Beans in tomato sauce and corn flakes.
Not to shower too expensive heat the water.
I know how poverty smells, like stale ****
it clings to your skin and takes years to wash off.

Poetry reading in Paris

Paris, six or seven years ago
I was invited to read my poems in front of an audience
At the time I wrote many pro-Palestinians poems
and I had nothing good to say about Israel.
I read my poems for a packed audience, but when I looked up,
must of them had left.
In the room there about five none Jewish people left.
The man who had invited me was a Moroccan Jew we got on well, but he had not asked me what poems I was reading.
He had disappeared with the others, and someone came to switch off the light.
Paris didn´t impress me much. I had a mental picture of the city as it was in Hemingway days, more fool me.
All was not lost the Shakespeare book shop took in two of my
small books, who knows they might still be there.

The Tiger


A tigress in Belgium rattled her cage
she got free growled angry words before
her keepers captured her
Her claws were manicured and red as blood.
Her hind legs to had manicured claws
and her fur was smooth as silk.
She was looking for a male tiger but in Belgium
they are thin on the ground.
Could it be rain?
She once, in the jungle found a tiger tall alas
the giant beast around, but untamed
left her in nail-bar and to another country fled.
There are so many tigresses everywhere and her
mane is getting grey.