Between The Road & The Western Hills Poem by Len Webster

As the sun goes down behind the western ridge
And laughter comes from the feasted circle,
As rice and Mekhong whisky flow
And dogs await the issuing of bones,
As dragonflies hover uncertainly over the pond
Where the larger Doctor Fish await their fate,
As time slips with confidence towards the night
And clouds, like shifting mountain peaks, prepare us for sleep,
I fritter my thoughts on things that seemed important
Once upon a time, in a mad place six thousand miles away.
The universe is centred on where we are
At any one time when we feel the need
To have absolute certainties
That will carry us through our allotted span.
And so, we say, let us make the most of every day,
Glibly believing we know right from wrong
But the old woman of ninety-four who sleeps
Behind the bamboo door
Thinks she is two hours south of here,
Doesn't know the date, the time or the names of the revellers
Who even now disturb her rest
And worry her, like children unaware.


(Chiang Mai Province,2002)