Nomads Poem by Brian Taylor

Formerly the Lahu were in Yunnan.
Now they have brought their black teeth and black cotton,
their smell of stale sweat and wood smoke
to places like Doi Angkhang.
They build bamboo houses with grass roofs of lalang
and put their ever-smouldering fires
in the middle of the floor where they deter
woodworm and mosquitoes and flare
brightly and noisily for cooking.
The families sleep in pairs around the fire,
feet pointing inwards like spokes of a living wheel
(which is what they are) .
Conversation flares up and disappears like firelight
and finally smoulders away into silence.

The bamboo floor starts to shake violently
as there is a sudden flare
of passion in one of the pairs.
This subsides but the contagion spreads
around the circle until everyone is exhausted.

Now the entire building shakes and creaks.
The horses under the house
are rubbing their itchy bodies against the posts.
This frightens the pigs
who run around grunting and snorting
and disturb the dogs
who run out in all directions
and bark until dawn.
The Lahu snore,
the owls hoot.
Just before sunrise
the women pound today’s rice
like the rhythmic hammering
of axe-head birds.

At last the cocks crow
and dawn comes up,
not like thunder,
but as a bright cloud of peace
and everyone stays in bed
until the world warms up
and melts the frost.


(From 'Bamboo Leaves')