To love a country as if you’ve lost one Is to feel the freezing sun on your body Form icicles on your cheeks as you train your feet To dance hopscotch on rough asphalt;
From the tree I’ve climbed only once Years ago, at the height of childhood innocence I scraped and bruised my way to the top Monsoon soaking my skin To survey this timeworn town Of rusty tin huts and clay I listened to the storm-created symphony on the roof Nature’s old-fashioned xylophone And as the storm grew heavy,
To love a country as if you’ve lost one Is to feel the freezing sun on your body Form icicles on your cheeks as you train your feet To dance hopscotch on rough asphalt;
From the tree I’ve climbed only once Years ago, at the height of childhood innocence I scraped and bruised my way to the top Monsoon soaking my skin To survey this timeworn town Of rusty tin huts and clay I listened to the storm-created symphony on the roof Nature’s old-fashioned xylophone And as the storm grew heavy,
