Realities of Island Life
narrow
wind kissed roads,
unpaved with
coral stones,
must be
swept twice daily,
drifting in
with the salty air,
smells of smoked tuna,
drying out in white heat,
crows circling above
ready to steal,
salty water
every where,
the old mosque well
is nearly dry,
tired limbs carry pots
all day long,
creaking sounds
of a bunch of coconuts,
overhead,
browned and seasoned,
just resisting gravity
will they fall on my head?
About this poem
This poem, representing the Maldives, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.
