… she will never leave …

This is simply beautiful!  I read this from someone who re-posted this on hers.  I shall follow the great big tradition to re-post this beautiful gathering of words about a nation that captivated many hearts which are willing to be captivated.

who is cambodia?

she is scent of ginger on the breeze.
the sound of children laughing as they scramble in the dirt.
the growl of a moto, the hum of a monk’s voice praying in the morning.
the lonely strains of music floating over a soul long gone,
the screech of karaoke celebrating life still here.
flowers, mango, jackfruit, decaying fish-
the sweet and the pungent living nestled together.
she is the face of an old woman, too old to remember a time of youth,
mouth wrinkled from speaking to her grandchildren,
teeth stained red with betel and love.
she is the smooth round cheek of a toddler,
eyes shiny with life, not yet knowing the strain of tomorrow.
she is humid, sticky heat that comes in march and refuses to go.
she is the roar of water falling from the sky in sheets in august.
she is the shock of cold air in an early january dawn.
she is color, and light, and sunsets too brilliant to be captured.
cambodia is life brought close to the senses.
once she finds her way behind your eyes,

she will never leave.

The funny thing is I cannot even legally say I personally experience every line of her sentiment.  I have never experienced the sheets of roaring water pouring down in August. I have never experienced the skin pricks of cold air in January.  Maybe one day I will.  I will write my own love poem for this nation!  Originally from what I see, from what I hear, from what my heart resonates the dripping sound of joy and sorrow, from what the busy street clangs the clashing cymbals of life and survival.    Yet one thing I resonated most are the very last few lines of this beautiful fellowship of words :

cambodia is life brought close to the senses. 

once she finds her way behind your eyes.

she will never leave.

The writer‘s words speak out my heart cry in verbatim.  She will never leave.  I never ask her to leave anyway.  She never intends to put on her slippers and heads to the front door and wave goodbye.  She and I are still sitting side by side, chatting and living life together.  She and I know in the deep calling to the deep that the way that she settled behind my eyes and vice versa is a life long journey and friendship, with light clashing and overlapping, with smell mixing and recreating, with sorrow croaking and vibrating.

fish boat

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