Back in those days

Back in the days,

When the sun would stick

Feverishly in the pink air,

And we'd run down never-ending country

Lanes. Our backs to the darkness.

Back in the days,

When the fabric would rustle and sway,

And the heat, like a net, would buzz

Round our homes and we'd sit poised

In the shade, fanning.

Back in the days,

When the crimson dust settled

On the old paths and heat would

Rise from them, even at midnight.

And the birds would sing.

Back in the days,

When the grass was thick and coarse and yellow,

We'd splash in the river bed, a treacle like

Stream, to cool off in. Then dance in the

Benevolent glade.

Back in the days-

But now

The days pass too quick, 

Then sun never sticks in the sky,

The lanes are always covered in a layer of soot, 

In darkness.

No money for nice fabric now,

No homes left either,

No trees to cast shade.

Now there isn't crimson dust, but

Crimson blood. Laying on the paths 

Where the birds don't dare to sing.

The grass is gone.

The river too, just and empty river bed and an

Empty space. No emerald glade and treacle river

Rush through here.

But we still live,

In a loop of our idyllic childhood-

Oh back in those days.