Four Decades of Exile

Rice Bread I Was A Poor Hungry Boy Going To School On An Early Morning Of A Chilly Winter Day Needing To Grab A Bite. You Sat On Your Legs On The Bare Kitchen Floor To Build A Fire With A Few Stagnant Wet Twigs And Damp Roots To Heat The Iron Pan To Bake A Rice-Bread For Me. You Vehemently Fought With The Heavy Smoke For A Long While Until Your Eyes Moistened; You Failed To Light The Wood And Gave Up. The Steel Pan Didn'T Heat; The Rice Dough Remained Untouched. I Went To School Empty-Stomached Shivering Without A Bite. I Never Minded Hunger If I Only Had A Dinner Last Night. I Didn'T Know Building A Fire Was That Hard Or Impossible In A Country Floating On A Lake Of Oil And Gas. Five Long And Hard Decades Had Passed; With All The Riches Plenty Milk And Honey America Can Afford My Silk Shirts And Ties Overseas Travels Imported Wine My Alms To The Needy And Exiled My Open House I Still Keen For Your Naked Rice Bread For Your Redolent Hugs' Warmth In The Chilly Winter Days Under The Generous Eyes Of The Immortal Sun. I Was A Tattered Poverty-Stricken Half-Naked Half-Starved Bare-Footed Lad Yet Far Away From The Savage Clash Of Adamant Civilized Swords The Aches Of Horrendous Calamities And Atrocities The Evil And Hatred Of My Malevolent Villainous World. In The Waterfall Of Waned Memories I Often Drown And Weep Like A Hungry Orphan Child Keening To Your Cardamom Compassion And Rice-Bread. In Retrospect That Hunger Poverty And Deprivation Taught Me Tolerance Endurance To Be Human After All. I Learned Never To Live For Food; Not Only By Bread A Man Lives I Rarely Slept Without Nostalgically And Pensively Recalling Your Misfortunate Sorrowful Face Your Smoke-Stifled Withered Tearful Eyes As You Vehemently Struggled To Build A Fire.