The Bookstore Experience

If I wish to know about the culture,
I just need to find the local bookstore.
The imagination, here, they nurture,
And discover what these large tomes are for.
All the mythology and history
Gather together in neat little rows.
Here I can unpack a new mystery
As my knowledge of the old country grows.
Opened books come with an enchanting smell
Of adventure and anticipation.
Within its musty pages I will dwell,
Exploring all the corners of this nation.
On my trips, it’s a box I like to tick
‘Cause reading is a hard habit to kick.

What It’s All About

When the death of thousands does not matter
‘Cause it does not directly affect you,
It makes your agenda even sadder
Because you did not act on what you knew.
Now that you use your elite position
To make risky investments on a cure,
It shows that your financial intention
About saving this country is not pure.
Your goal is to stuff your pocketbook
And dance on the grave of America.
I weep for the integrity you took
Behind the obvious lie of MAGA.
It will take many years to recover
From the way you left my home in tatters.

Drive on the Coast

We have made the afternoon for a drive
Over the wooded hills along the coast.
It feels good to get out of the hive
To chase away the collected year’s ghost.
Others are not willing to venture out
And reclaim the civilization’s shore.
Taking their time is what it is about,
And I should not coax them out of their door.
Until then, I am alone on the road,
Breathing in deeply, the wafting sea air
Where, at one time, my memory had stowed
What it had once been like to have been there.
This idea of freedom is fleeting,
But at any chance, it is worth repeating.

A Woman in the Rain

The puddles have overcrowded the roads,
Singing symphonies of collected rain.
I watch the sky as my grey cloud explodes,
Washing away the city’s dirty pain.
I find that now the streets belong to me,
Sharing it with the random umbrella.
They hide the faces that I wish to see,
Protecting each individual’s flaw.
We can find safety in this day’s deluge
Of living up to the fashion’s standards.
The precipitation turns into rouge
Which from society’s sharp teeth, it guards.
The freedom I find here is most pleasing
By myself in Bangkok’s rainy season.

The Game

Not every night needs to be the same.
We can change the routine a little bit
By playing a different kind of game.
Once you start, you won’t be able to quit.
It is not that type of competition.
The rules are not always written out
For a clearer kind of explanation,
But you need to be ready for a bout
That will match all of your wits against mine.
The game need not always choose a winner
Because there is no real finish line
When competing with this group of sinners.
You are not given a choice but to play
A game that we all play everyday.