The Half Mohican Cut
America is far away, three oceans and three hundred countries away;
Closer home, at the barber's shop a few walks away, I did not
Expect, not from the big poster of one hundred film stars and styles the barber
Offers, and worshiped every day with an offering of incense sticks;
Nor I expected a cut, coiffed, those of the faraway Mohicans from America have;
Scissors stridulate; clittering and clattering, the familiar sound
The noise of the marketplace in the background complements
And the smell of shaving creams and aftershave lotions
And shampoos and fancy cosmetic; what would you not smell of?
And the mirrors and the reflecting thousand of scented images
We can see half of the world inside his business place.
You never know when it will rain in the distant desert
You never know when you will remember your first love
You never know when the images of faraway land will appear
You never know when the bomb will explode;
How would I know when the barber will flee,
Disappear under the floor after making one big stride
Under the adjustable chair I was sitting?
It was just a big bomb blast;
-- Strolling in the deserted street
Whistling to the tune of the boots trotting, vehicles whizzing
Catching sight, the sporadic views of people in the distance
I came home with the half Mohican cut.