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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The random swaying of the truck on broken roads roused me from my slumber. The same random swaying that had pushed me past the threshold of sleep. There were snow clad mountains till the eyes could see. Beautiful lush valleys with green rolling meadows and a merrily meandering mountain stream. God's abode? Yaks were grazing in the meadows, their plump bodies gyrating to an unheard mellow rhythm. I checked to see if they were wearing headphones and then laughed at my foolish thought. The road got worse than the worst that I had ever seen. I wondered if there was a word beyond worst to describe it. But the randomness of the potholes and bumps had an almost uniform quality to them. Maybe that's why I kept slipping into sleep. Sleep that kept interrupting my attempts at clear thought. But the broken fragments of my thoughts were nothing new. Despite being away from the comfort of my home, thousands of miles away, how is it that my thoughts remained the same. My life, my family, my child, my love, my loss, my victory, my defeat. Why was I so full of MY self? Why couldn't I transpose my thoughts into the body of that farmer there. What would he be thinking? Is he thinking about me in this broken truck, trudging along this broken road? Even in this remoteness, why couldn't my thoughts be remote from me? I think it's the sound of an explosion that pushed me firmly back into my senses. But was I in my senses? I felt myself fall. I could sense falling into a deep space with no end, searching for a foothold that wasn't there. Where did the hills go? What about the meadow? The river? The farmer? I suddenly could see my thoughts going in reverse like a VHS tape being rewound and finally the flurry of images stopped and you filled the screen of my thoughts. That's when I knew I was dead blood red river a paper boat tumbles down my baby's cries
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