a leaf waiting to drop...

he wondered,why fall when it could glide
and with the wind,
to fly?




i had with me a carton box when i left home.
not the size of ones dedicated for footwear (or soles),
a small carton box with trifles
and trinkets
(and treasures?) i call(ed) - my own.

i left it (intentionally) THERE
where (i can't tell)
the sedong swaps flows
with me.

stirs, my heart makes

still, (my box stays),

and fills with trifles
and trinkets
and treasures from her i will call - my own.

i have with me a carton box
not the size of ones dedicated for footwear (or soles),
a small carton box
filled and brimming of trifles
and trinkets
and treasures i bring home.


plain of jars (site 1), xieng khouang province

and the gods seemed too giving
- fill their cups to brim -
halfway to child-birth
two people to ask one and each
to coupling
recouping the slate
state of the art
make one afraid of the mass
to undergo a rite
of orgy passage.

the sky seemed cooperative at first, overcast but non-drizzling. the ground was still wet, therefore, muddy in a slippery kind of way. hence, my guide repeated, "careful, slippery. you know what i me
an? slippery? careful, slippery." after a few minutes, the clouds doused the field with a peck-ful, again, filling the half-filled stone jars scattered across the field with more water.


i must be cursed

he told her just now that he must be cursed - fated to live a life of loneliness - praying that she might understand and offer solace within her plush bosoms. "i would love to see. i am prevented from seeing." he heard a melody play in his mind saying that he should accept and learn to be what is - a shriveling slug.

"i am a shriveling slug." it slithered - plopped out through his mouth. "maybe not."

a song replayed telling him like bird he should fly.

"i am a bird that should fly." he waved his arms wide and far. feeling somehow his feet lift from the ground, he waved harder in fluid motion, closing his eyes, he permitted his arms to take him away.

jumping from a three-floor building, he fell.

"i must be cursed - fated to live a life of loneliness." foolishness, she whispered.

have you seen --------- already?

"have you seen champasak already?" a colleague grinningly asked.

sensing an altogether different meaning to his undertones, i meekly replied, "i would love to see and taste champasak."

"oh difficult to see champasak, not like lp or vtn."

"champasak seems to be expensive... and big. maybe one time we can look around."



on a crippled tree stump he sits waiting. perhaps for a bunny cloud to pass by, in time for him to pluck it from the sky. it appears blue. not as blue as anyone would want to see in a summer escapade in one of the many islands in the pacific. or the carribean. or the atlantic. or wherever bluer seas one would want to find himself or herself or itself seated and contemplating. the sky appears blue, bluer in fact in contrast to the rich brown that spreads the life of this wide river mekong, in contrast to the redder soil of this seemingly wide pakse town at the southern part of laos, long minutes before the border to one big (expanding by crook or by force) thailand.

he waits. perhaps for dandy long legs to walk pass by him, smooth as ivory cream, but not too much as to blind his eyes. inviting seems to be the proper word, ivory-not-too-shiny cream legs inviting him to follow and see what lies beneath.

he caves his hands to cover his face. feeling sweat build up on his temples, he grabs a paper towel and wipes his face. he waits again. could be for a phone call telling him he won the lottery. he remembers an acquaintance of a friend of his local friend who recently won the lottery amounting to 2,000dollars (in conversion) from almost 100dollars investment to play it. lucky. what if he wins the lottery too in his hometown, he could stop working for 2years maybe, but rethinking back, he could not stop working for 2years. he could not stop working for what he has learned to live with. fortunately maybe, he doesn't know how to play the lottery.

he waits. the sky turns freshly-squeezed concentrated orange. a bit darker. add a tinge of ashen clouds and reddish grounds. turning darker. darker. street lamps flicker by the roadsides - barely noticeable. turning brighter. brighter but just enough to counter the building darkness around him.

he waves goodbye to the day, recollects himself, stands, and walks away.