Stranded in Burma
Hands shaking, head cracking, bones creaking, vomit rising, ears bleeding, now, this is now. Movement, always movement. Striding, stumbling, wading, waddling, wandering, wondering. After the movement, the mystery. Why, how, what, always, when, where, who, not so much.
I stand, here I stand, I do not move, I block out thought. Still movement, all around, a dog idles by, a cyclist zips past, clouds rush onwards, here comes the storm, rain falls, lightning rips through the sky. And I? I stand. Here I stand. Nowhere to go, no one to tell, nothing in my hands.
Drenched, I stand, I breathe, I hold out my arms. I am here, here I stand.
Yes, I move, I walk, I am walking through streets of Nay Pyi Taw, you wonder, as I wander. Why am I here? When did I come? What am I doing? What have I done? What will I do? Why am I stuck? Here. Here I am.
my an mar
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