Tired yellows on infant flowers Are like resignation on new lovers. Rains drop, when the sky blinks; Fetching tears on abandoned brinks. The sweaty smell of gestation, Signifies the mangoesβ manifestation. I close my eyes and hear The inevitable drum roll caving near. Spring reclines under the parapets of roofs, Crushed like a migrant under our carriage hoofs. Summer. The Harbinger of Life. Possess these seeds and fertilize Their voluble dormancy In the flames of insurgency.