Who is cambodia? A poem

she is scent of ginger on the breeze.
the sound of children laughing as they scramble in the dirt.
the growl of a moto, the hum of a monk’s voice praying in the morning.
the lonely strains of music floating over a soul long gone,
the screech of karaoke celebrating life still here.
flowers, mango, jackfruit, decaying fish-
the sweet and the pungent living nestled together.
she is the face of an old woman, too old to remember a time of youth,
mouth wrinkled from speaking to her grandchildren,
teeth stained red with betel and love.
she is the smooth round cheek of a toddler,
eyes shiny with life, not yet knowing the strain of tomorrow.
she is humid, sticky heat that comes in march and refuses to go.
she is the roar of water falling from the sky in sheets in august.
she is the shock of cold air in an early january dawn.
she is color, and light, and sunsets too brilliant to be captured.
cambodia is life brought close to the senses.
once she finds her way behind your eyes,
she will never leave.

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