Two men with smooth shaven heads.

One in khaki shirt and trousers the other in saffron robes

sit silently side by side.

Content to absorb the passing scene.

The legato flow of the complex multi-tones between light

yellows and dark green.

The staccato of the village houses.

The sudden bursts of temple brass.

The gentle rhythm of the small gray clouds.

For them a fulfilling silent symphony of a peaceful world.


But noise there is from within the bus.

From a small flickering screen

An intrusive manic percussion drives itself into full volume

Is spent and them in no time at all is awake again for fresh madness.

as it backs the metallic rattle of automatic fire.

The squealing of tortured tyres.

The throaty challenges of combatant cars.

The crescendos of blasts, tearing metal and shattered glass.

The male voices keep up their roars of victory and despair.

The females, their screams of pain and anguish.

For some a purging cacophony of a violent world.


Ranong to Trang. Thailand.     Dec. 2011