“The Ceylon pride”

Untitled

Walking in droves, listening
to our feet move bare against
the graveled earth, dressed in
coloured sheets of coarse cloth
wrapped around the waist, and
sleeveless cotton blouses we move

towards a tea plantation,
the Ceylon pride,
a green mirage
in the pre-dawn light.
Someone speaks.
The sound of wood
on skin and bones.
Silence. The March
resumes

until we stand in L-shaped
lines shoulder to shoulder in
inverted Ls. Each keeps one arm
around an open weaved basket
as if the arm was glued,
the other free to move

sways in an easy twist to break the bending
leaves from stems, smooth green silk
cool to sun baked palms, releasing
that scent, that sweet familiar
smell of black tea leaves
that I at nine identify
as fear.

About the author: Fathima Feroze was born in Sri Lanka and is now a third year student studying English and Economics at University of Toronto, Scarborough. She is currently an editor of the undergrad literary journal Scarborough Fair.