Take it easy kid, my Papa's sis tells me,
your taxi's been arranged, so, no anxiety there, see.
Bua thinks anxiety is her own little child,
and should stay home all the time, with only her to mind.
So, I not dare any more opinion,
and straightaway head for oblivion,
seeking peace, raw greens of native home.
So, squeezed again, with my sisters and brethren,
the mountains deepen,
hills become lonelier,
and hillier, and sunlight soft-lier .
The Gorges where sun is rare,
and the heat doesn't dare,
to mess with the noisy and frothy river,
sporadic waterfalls wett'n the land, so don't go near,
or you will get,
wet,
rather turn around,
see the grasslands bound,
village kids jumping galloping,
with gay'r dogs, mostly black fur, hopping,
bopping, bouncing, little silhouettes they roam,
solitary taxi stuffed with Pahadis nearing home.
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