The Rain Rides Away

It is the rainy season. a cataract of warm liquid nails hammers upon the road surface. The thin tin jitney is sliding through the traffic jams gliding precariously near yellow poncho clad mopeds being rode by two, three or more. The little three wheeled taxi is packed solid. She is sitting on my lap as the vehicle jigs and jerks. I am heading for Suvarnabhumi airport, going home although 'home' is an empty place of exile, a land that I can love no more. Duty calls, even for lovers to part; she to her village and a dying father, I to the embrace of loneliness, a solitude that still yet brings me to long restless nights in a cold bed I made for myself.