Clouded sunlight curls up in the grey blues of dusk
Imprisoned visions of mundane comfort, the usual crowded bus,
Today it is empty, stationary and covered with dust;
I sit inside and recall but my memories have caught rust.
In the distance I hear, it is my favourite time of the year
Many a Goddess sculpted from a soil of sorrowful tears.
Food for the soul, this music beats in hearts, ringing clear,
Against these rural ancient songs the city noise disappears.
Several lights to alight the streets with colours I have never known!
Like little snow globes of a tropical theme, narrow insignificant roads;
Hours past midnight we have local tea and haunting lore
Then comes the breezing rain with the fragrance of earth and home.
Separated friends, rain and river, rejoice as they meet again
The thunder roars and the lightning alights a bridge at a distant end,
A surreal photograph through the rainy fog on my inexpensive camera lens;
Every year I stand here baffled by beauty I still fail to comprehend.
The cool shade of many trees, an umbrella like dome,
Empty bus stops where people feed many creatures left alone
Accompanying each other till someone gives them a ride out of this storm
Here in this empty bus, this street, I see there is no place like home.