Gedicht
Noel Rowe
Bangkok never really sleeps
Bangkok never really sleeps
Bangkok never really sleeps
Bangkok never really sleeps, it turnsit seems endlessly in and out of streets
that once were klongs, but now
are fierce cement, where motorbikes and cars,
quick and greedy, grasp each other’s fumes.
You lay awake and watched his back,
hoping there to find a place where beauty was
invincible, but saw instead the rise and fall of breath.
He spoke of love, water buffaloes and going home,
and if you know now
it was a lie, do not hate him, there isn’t time.
Today, when you visit Wat Phra Keo
to see a Buddha carved green as deep water,
you’ll hear the wind release the temple bells:
Ani’chung. Impermanent. There isn’t hate,
isn’t love. Ani’chung. There isn’t time.
Ani’chung, ani’chung, ani’chung.
© 2004, Noel Rowe
From: Next to Nothing
Publisher: Vagabond Press, Sydney
From: Next to Nothing
Publisher: Vagabond Press, Sydney
Gedichten
Gedichten van Noel Rowe
Close
Bangkok never really sleeps
Bangkok never really sleeps, it turnsit seems endlessly in and out of streets
that once were klongs, but now
are fierce cement, where motorbikes and cars,
quick and greedy, grasp each other’s fumes.
You lay awake and watched his back,
hoping there to find a place where beauty was
invincible, but saw instead the rise and fall of breath.
He spoke of love, water buffaloes and going home,
and if you know now
it was a lie, do not hate him, there isn’t time.
Today, when you visit Wat Phra Keo
to see a Buddha carved green as deep water,
you’ll hear the wind release the temple bells:
Ani’chung. Impermanent. There isn’t hate,
isn’t love. Ani’chung. There isn’t time.
Ani’chung, ani’chung, ani’chung.
From: Next to Nothing
Bangkok never really sleeps
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère