Bamboo house

I wrote this poem a few years ago, after spending 2 nights in a village, way up in the North of Thailand. I’ll write more about those villages another time.

Roof not completely covered with grass
The house pitch black
I wake up to the sound of the cock crowing
My mind becomes more alert,
I hear the pigs grunting under the house
A distant dog howls
And is joined by others
The man next to me stirs in his sleep
Will he awake too? What is he dreaming?
About the mud roads we traveled?
Or the food strange to our taste buds?
Or the peoples stares as we entered the village?
Dogs are quieting now
Rolling over on my rice mat
Trying to find a comfortable position
I dream about another world where
There are no smells and no sounds.
Where there is no room for the different
I’m glad to be here.

Lillian

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