What I miss


The burdens of the world not on their shoulders
Wrapped in modesty their hearts content in their place
Neighbors, friends, and family
Gathered that night like on nights often

Hand woven clothes around their head
Finely tempered tobacco waiting to be hand rolled by their side
During the late first quarter of the night
They sat on benches 

Half moon shaped red tiles fired from the local kilns
adored the expansive sliced bamboo roof
15 foot in depth and 60 foot wide
the roof has been home at that time of the night
to a series of cots made of wood and hand woven hibiscus

A thin blanket, a cotton pillow, a sheet to cover
Children laid there listening to the age old dance outside
The hum of the rain on the roof is continuous
Never a sound more soothing was heard

The faithful tiles, the reliable tiles,
moved the rushing waters down the eaves
in a silver curtain

A kerosene lamp protected by a concave glass
to protect the flame for the wind hung on the walls
In lamp light, the shimmering silver
ruminating men, resting mothers
A child's heart took wing
in a cocoon of security

The silver falls descended the 7 feet clearing
with a noise only falling water can make,
incessant, hurried, multitoned

In the skies above a war is on its way.
Arjuna, The archer of the skies is on his chariot of silver horses.
As the wheels rumble and ascend
The lynch pins fell off lighting up the sky
Children would say "Arjuna" "Arjuna"
as the lightning exposes bubbled ground  

Streaks of water currents rushes out the fron yard
in a gurgle

The din and hum on the roof
The thrashing of the ground
The  
 
slanted and gave them mined and crafted from the among a compamy
The calamity outside seem to have In the shadows