Small carts wheel by selling
local yum yum bbq chicken, pork sticks and ice chilled
sugar cane you cruch in your mouth and savor your own
saliva and throw the strings out of your mouth.
Hotels line everywhere against the hot street.
Sir! You wanna Tuk, Tuk? Where you come from?
Foreigners pass by heads up and eyes straight ahead as
hands reach out and mothers holding tired, sick babies
in their arms reaching out for the wealth that walks
by. Their eyes speak of misery and the horror of
poverty and yet a smile shapes their determination to
live. I stare straight into a local kid's eye his eyes
fixed on me looking. I smile and keep smiling at him
and his wall is torn down and he is a different person
smiling. I am in another place . . .
bouncing up and down in the back of a bus, with the loud engine in the back rumbling. Startled, a man touches my leg and looks at me smiling wide with one tooth and bekons to my heart. Two
fingers raise up. He points to me and then points to
him and has the number "2." He then points to his
mouth and then my mouth and nods is head, no. Him and
I are the same we can't even say one spoken word
to each other. He nods with both hands to his chest,
I wai back to him and we smile and understand him and
we enjoy our beaming timeless smiles together. He
looks the other way out the window thinking of life. . "Sir you want book? I have many books," my mind is taken
to another place and time, "Sir, have many books, good
price!" "No thank you." I smile. Children tread their footpath
carrying their heavy loads of books and in the bearing
hot sun, their feet are numb to the hot red dirt road
beneath. Another place, I see a shimmering orange touring monks
during twilight sunset against the charcoal ancient stone of
Angkor Wat. Bright, Bright orange flowing robes walk
slowly. "Hello." I say. He beams a smile up at me, and smiles wide, grabs my hand and we walk.
Each step, we walk hand in hand. My mind races of Suan
Mohnk monestary as I sit meditating. The compassion
flowing through his hands. Many years a monk. I can't believe it! and I ask to take a picture with him. I bow
slightly saying goodbye. The other young monks
smiling looking at me bewildered for some reason.
They look at our rented electric bikes and I sit and
motion no foot pedal movement. Their guide unable to
speak English sits on the bike and tries a go while
the monks their eyes wide like the moon above,
laughing. My mind races . . and I see a poor, dirty
grandmother, thin and skinny sitting on the street
looking at me, looking at the endless legs who walk by. . .Its a hot day.