Written by:

Zerayn D.

They began playing the ensembles,
Mahori music in loud rambles,
in front yards of shops and homes,
in improvised event halls are formed

of sound and rhythm, yet to begin,
the circles are yet to be seen,
for Romvong comes after some catalyst,
where dance steps are all in the list

and Saravan is a refresher vibe,
from recent wedding still alive,
echoes of laughter linger on,
in every step, the drums atune

red, green, blue, purple, yellow
dancing as the breezes blow,
high up tangled with the trees,
zigzagging freely in the streets

there’s something steaming in the air,
thick red stew cooked with care
beef, spices, potatoes, and herbs
a fragrance no one disturbs

then the greens are a mistress,
bean sprouts, lotus stems caressed,
a slice of lemon, pepper, sauce,
but married with white noodles,

the Romyong is now played,
in the air, white dust swayed,
loud laughter, screaming echoes,
everywhere is so joyous

banters mixed with shooting water,
running, shouting in delight after,
a fleeting world of celebration,
burning vividly, bright illumination

I watch this scene once a year,
over a decade, this is clear
this kingdom of wonder holds me still,
like memory in my hand and will

until the lotus blooms one day,
a hard decision yanked me away,
to take another road less traveled by,
I’ve walked miles before I cry

painting a picture of goodbye,
but many loose ends makes me sigh,
this sudden choice, an earthquake’s shake,
a quiet, but a trembling ache

it poked some hearts, announced my presence,
I could not foresee, do light an incense,
for I’ve been here, yet passing through,
and leaving suddenly though