He labors on shifting from tree to tree br With corn-laden feet and scarred hands br Concealed by the melanin cover br Of his wrinkled and time-pealed skin br A man stranded to pedigree br To the inter-generational heirloom of his time-tested craft br What no bamboo hooks could ever unhook br Nor mechanized monsters could ever colonize br br A man with dark tan skin and curly locks br Born to a humble heritage of coconut pluckers br Die-hard islanders practicing a timeless trade br Holding one's life on the tips of his palms br With the underside of the sarong br Rising between the buttock cheeks br And sweat trickling down br On tanned hemispheres of a drawn face br Armed with a razor-sharp knife in hand br Plucking coconuts perched on the zenith of a coconut tree br br He knows the perils of a slip br The magnetism of gravity br The distance to the nearest hospice br Yet he labors on firmly holding br The bough of a coconut tree br A man plucking the worth of a few rupees br To feed the fledgling innocence br Gazing on from a mud-crafted veranda br Of a run-down house br br Yet the tireless warrior strolls on br Perched high in to the heavens br With nimble feet and a grip of steel br Tireless in toil, soldiering on br In these battlefields of fate br Armed with an iron will and the resilience of spirit br br A humble man with no bank account br With no bed to hold his vertebral column br With no color on his plate of rice br With no tooth brush near a sun-parched well br Embattled by the ruthlessness of fate br Battling on from sunrise to sunset br With treacle-coated dreams and toddy nights br Lingering on to the resolute embrace of time br A simple man that could do no wrong br Even when the gods could do no rightbr br Dilantha Gunawardanabr br