By Marsal Soren
Long live the untouched village.
Long live the odds every villager adores.
Only rivers where they row to home,
and their language is unique.
The heart, in the middle of nowhere,
when it beats, dances the tribes.
This land has spirit and souls.
The land where people fear to enter,
the sound of the drums allure.
They say there are crocodiles on the way
and zero millionaire.
If you got your car dead, nothing can repair.
If you disappear, nobody will care.
Would you still dare?
Rich with beauty green, but dangers it spares.
Upright is sky blue until downdraft it stares.
Like the Blair Witch moves the silent wind,
and the forest echoes Bird Box by Bier.
Once caught eyes, you finally reside.
Twice the steps, your feet ground ties.
No crawfish out, you are possessed.
Tone deaf blindfolded, lost in the middle of nowhere.