THE HOME
I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was hiding its last gold like a miser.
The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the widowed land, whose harvest had
been reaped, lay silent.
Suddenly a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky. He traversed the dark unseen, leaving the track of
his song across the hush of the evening.
His village home lay there at the end of the waste land, beyond the sugar-cane field, hidden among
the shadows of the banana and the slender areca palm, the cocoa-nut and the dark green jack-fruit
trees.
I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight with her spread before me the darkened
earth surrounding with her arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mothers'hearts and
evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that knows nothing of its value for the world.
ON THE SEASHORE
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of
endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave
their boats and smilingly float them on the cast deep.Children have their play on the seashore of
worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pear-fishers dive for pearls, merchants
sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden
treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.Death-dealing waves
sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The
sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.