A Burmese Gale
Sometimes strolling slowly on a neglected trail
Upon a chilling coast uniting land and sea
A gale weakly brushes my face
I pause, standing still as she talks to me.
Her tongue speaks with foreign eloquence
Words and customs unknown to me
I can only catch the sorrow in her voice
Language that transcends every boundary
She laments as if she lost a son
Snatched cruelly from her loving arms
He would hold so trustingly, her hands
Today, she came with empty palms.
August 3, 2012 Poems