She was increasing the fire with
The air blowing through the
Pipe of a reed.
The fire tongues were licking
The pot’s bottom
From the burning logs underneath.
The boiling water was eagerly waiting For the stuff to be cooked.
She put the bamboo rice in the pot
Each budged and made the pot
Full of white rice.
He slowly came and shut her eyes
From her back,
A sweet strange smell
The sigar’s smell plus the music of
The ticking of the wrist watch,
A new scenario to the