I rue my estranged home unchanged ten years on.
But in my moments I miss the rustic west of the Abode of the clouds.
Like a ghost I'd roamed every foot of that wild west,
And it comes back to haunt my moments of loneliness.
The day I set my foot there was the dark part,
People clad in heavy clothing complete with shawls,
Loaded with the day's purchases and petrol torches,
Took me back to scenes from some Eastwood movies.
Their rugged look and bettle red mouths stirred my fears,
But I learned to revere them even more gradually.