Quite a lucid morning, with my kinsfolk,
The denizens of ukhun,
Indifferent of their mien.
Ascending the hill, experimenting the soothing walk on the dry mud.
Peering downwards trying to reactivate the sight of the long aged stream.
Then I had realized I what had befallen me, what the mind readers call decay of memory trace. I took off my shoes, somewhat skeptical of its safety,
Then came a voice, its a taboo for someone to take someone else’s belonging in the precincts of the stream. This gave me a great sense of security.
Descending, its waters came with a gleaming flow, reflecting its morning sunlight that had just arisen from its slumber which the moon had earlier sent to parking.
Trying to appreciate a piece of clay, by what the porters make out of it, I was once again prompted that it was a taboo.
As a minor then, the only thing that did not pose any difficulty in retrieving, was the vigor in which the water flows, which remains indelible, and unchanging.
With its enduring flow of life which brought the picture of the one every straight loves to love.- futile though!
We descended the hill, the inquisitive had discovered a crab hole, never seen such before, but it had spoken for itself, because of its ugly inhabitant, the crab!
Can i strike? “Its a taboo” that’s all I ever hear! Except for the one i love to love, she isn’t a taboo, I had muttered.
While the minors walked ahead, i tried studying the woods surrounding the stream, the inquisitive could find his way around, at least not lost memory trace of the path.
Catching up with them, the youngest of them flexed downward liberating the dried leaves from what looked like a crucifix engraved on the fairly dry mud. the inquisitive had inquired again,-it is a prevision to know if there was a meal awaiting them at home, since the leaves had fallen on it, there was food awaiting him,-that was the most bewihting of all I had seen at ukhun.