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A country is born

There will be a new flag on the horizon tomorrow,
hoisting millions of strange new hopes,
new borders, stamps, coins, passports,
military badges, medals and other trinkets of state,
a source of effervescent, ephemeral pride,
cries of refreshing Uhuru.

Then reality - diplomatic gaffes,
little wars, treaties, negotiations.
The big countries' unwelcome patronisation.
All sorts of experts trooping in
to give advice overtly,
and a few covert threats.

Feed the poor, vaccinate babies,
build roads, kill mosquitoes,
placate rich taxpayers,
bury assassinated leaders,
balance budgets, sell oil, coal, minerals,
arrest some, release some,
educate children, find them jobs,
a thousand things to do.
No time for cutting cake.

Life will stagger on.
The flag, forgotten, will still fly
proudly upon the horizon.

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Sunday is...

...a late morning, a tumbler of degree coffee, a birthday greeting to a friend (thank God for Facebook), another tumbler of coffee... ...a hot water bath, catching up on weekly politics, rice and bitter-gourd curry with jeera rasam and pickle, a long unhad siesta... one murukku made from old rice, ground by hand and made in coconut oil, one piece of jangri - not too sweet - washed down with hot degree coffee... a walk with the dog drongo-spotting in the garden, and old family stories with mother under the jamun tree... ...a little poem, a bit of light reading, and an interesting online chat on the Dhammapada... ...and finally an ascent to heaven with curd rice and vadu-mangay, before the fall to the netherworld of Monday.