This is our wealth, these plastic pitchers
Colored and vain, on our heads of hair
With jasmines smelling  from our backs.
The way waters pour in them is  beauty.

Our bodies are full  of water, as it  sloshes
In them  just like in  the green coconut
That fell from a monkey man up there.

Our water dilutes our husbands mostly
Filled with viscous liquids and gray smoke.
Our jasmine smells  are drowned in them
And they make mostly diluted love to us.

Our pitchers are our wealth, red and blue.
Ere the cock crows  we are  up and about 
With  red and blue pitchers on our heads.


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