The reason Baba has no milk is the reason our cups are filled with blood from tasting the fear we are too young to endure.
Baba is an empty gourd, also without water. Also, without care.
He ran into the streets singing for the last man that drove into town with promises and took them all as he left.
Baba didn’t notice over the roar of music and stomping feet, the crunch of rice and crisp of cash and swinging of arms and epileptic handshakes.
He unknowingly signalled that he didn’t want any of it. Not water, not even milk.
So they give him blood and he held out our cups to be filled.
If you have an interpretation of this poem, let’s hear it in the comments !😀
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