.

.

we met, in Kuta

a nameless lane

as dusk was drawing

I was strolling

towards my loseman

I stumbled upon you

huddled upon wooden step

monsoon rain splintered my sight

through thrashing torrents

exotic, sensual bliss

that only wealth adorns

and poverty punishes

there you were

mother and new born child

rain streaming from leaf clad roof

in rivers of misery upon you

without complaint you sat

calmly with courageous  acceptance

as I crumbled before you

your simple story

was told freely

was unoriginal

off pregnancy, shame and abandonment

a story of the world

though it was your words that carved my essence

speaking truth to my soul

I think of you and your child daily

I see you both in my minds eye

this day, as I do every day

as if it were yesterday

those few precious Rupiahs

which I placed before you

now seem so inadequate

theses twenty four years on

how poorly I rewarded you

for such spiritual wealth

.

.

© Paul Nichol 2013

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