Time to leave the ex-pats in mid-complaint
About how meaningless their lives were before,
Time to part from the Germans
Still looking for something to do on the beach,
And turn away from the moon party ravers
Nursing their wounds in the open cafe.
And it's time to say goodbye to the roosters
Who share their sound so happily all night long,
And so long to the screaming cicadas, hysterical mynas,
The silver palms, the green banana leaf rainbows,
Time to bid farewell to every
Palm oil farmer and songthaew driver,
Every temple in every storefront
With a wish to find compassion for all of it,
To remember the innocence in front of the mind
As we slip away invisible,
Barely a passing shadow to those here,
Yet we've left something permanent behind
Amid the swirl of impermanent activity
That extends all the way to the silence of our presence;
It is the same, now everything can turn into dust.
