A few poems I wrote when reflecting on my time in China, and while entering Laos…
On The Street
Perfectly poised
between your teeth,
your paintbrush tells your story,
of how you lost those hands of yours
how you're betrayed by this land of yours
of how you're here, on the street.
Crowds stoop and stare
at your hard work
to read your tragic story.
I cannot read these words of yours,
I cannot live these hurts of yours
as I stand here, on the street.
To me, your words are like an art,
To you, my words set us apart
as we lock eyes, on the street.
To you, my white face brings a buck,
To me, your poor fate's brought bad luck
to bring you here, on the street.
I'm just happy we got to meet.
Blind To My Gestures
Blind to my gestures,
deaf to my words-
how does a Westerner get to be heard?
I can't read Chinese
nor understand
when you speak, though I try- this is your land.
It's the opposite
to what I know-
to you, I probably seem very slow.
Give me a minute,
I'll get my book
to translate this word- let me have a look.
I know that it's lazy
and wrong of me
to expect English spoken easily.
When I try to speak
your Mandarin,
I really don't know where I should begin!
Always feeling lost,
nowhere to turn;
I guess this provides a lesson to learn-
You should help others
Though you can't speak
Their language- it will make their day less bleak!
Next time I come back,
One thing's for sure,
I will have studied my phrasebook much more!
Borders
Funny how when you cross one border,
Things can suddenly lose all order,
Time stands still, and so does the bus,
And for once, everybody's not waiting for us!
Here we are in Laos, let the good times roll,
Where biking will be good for the soul.
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