I miss the sounds in the morning of the village coming to life,
of the thunder over far away hills,
the silent whisper of the water in the rivers
and the tickling noise of raindrops on the sandy roads.
I miss the arms that hold me
and the smiles that came along with the embrace.
I miss the colors of the kurta’s and sari’s the women wear
and the smell of food being prepared in the streets.
I miss the honking of hors of cars passing by
and the noise of hundreds of motorbikes everywhere.
I miss the taste of the mango’s and banana
and the quiet evening view over the rice fields.
I miss the sunsets in bright orange, setting fire to the horizon.
I miss the cheers of the children who play
and the old hands of the market people selling their goods.
I miss the simple but tasteful food
and the warmth of welcoming eyes.
I miss the sharing without egoism and the unsaid desires
and I miss the simplicity of life
and the buses with too many passengers who still smile when they talk.
I miss the people who don’t complain but stay cheerful
even when they seem not to have a reason to do so.
I miss the long walks through the open land
looking at oxen ploughing in the muddy soil.
I miss the sweltering heat of the afternoon
and the soothing rain at the end of day.
I miss the starry nights with millions of little lights in the sky.
I miss the fireflies hovering over the fields in an eternal dance
and the crickets making sounds
and I miss the slow moving birds of prey circulating in skies above.
I miss Nepal.
But most of all I miss my friends
and I long to hold them and never let them go.
As they are in my thoughts so many times every day.
Alice © 2011