Craig


 Film Script



Desolate, this time of rain fall
streets rich with brown rivers
where cars churn and splutter
or pause watchfully on one bank
gauging the best route to make it
safe to the other side.

Desolate, these streets of begging
children with scaly skin and small
malnourished limbs a plea stamped
on their aging faces. Don't want it
the weight of this grief
the stress of this country.

Must go, must move must break
this stasis, this gloam where
day ends too early
night falls too swift.
Must go where women
are plowing the fields
patting tender seedlings
into the deep earth smell.
Must go where birds call
from high mountain trees
and coffee blossom blurs
slopes where lilies mix
their fragrance with
cool, clumped thyme.