Night dancers and the disparate mosquitoes of Naalya

It is a Saturday,almost Sunday, morning,

A long line of happenings stretch across,

This once lonely valley,

Then monkeys and birds ruled,

Before being ruined,

Down the doll drums of this once,

Green valley…

Birds, were plenty..

Now bars plainly plenty..

Innocent streams of

water,

Ran across the tiny marram roads,

In each and every deep valley,

As boys and girls looked for jambula,

Playing hide and seek, wabula!

…And wild jackfruits alongside monkeys

All in nature’s unison of calmness..

Local herbalists filled up the valley,

Picking this and that,

To spur up their concoctions,

In bits and pieces,

Like God’s Bits of Wood

Before the space was less woody..

What a sullen mood…

The night dancers of Naalya,

Now command the streets,

Some clobbering, some cornered,

Some dancing

some danced,

Along, like disparate mosquitoes,

Mosquitoes that survive,

On innocent blood

Of the people of Naalya valley,

Like Kafiti, the village wag..