tin rooves and wooden walls
sky where the two don’t meet
off to weed potatoes
in sandals or bare feet
dog barks mark
the fall of night
yet room still
oscillate with electric light
a pooja starts
the beat of drums
soft resonance of
monks’s flat hums
over wooded mountains
sunlight gleams
but in my western eyes
its concrete and wooden beams
inside my house
a TV screams
at feigned romance
and neon dreams