Memories of Laos
 

A message sent by a lady wise,
made our brother sad.
She spoke of people far away from their native land.
People who are prisoners of places not their home.
They live each day in memory of what they left behind.
To enjoy each day they try their best,
language and customs change.
Deep down inside we all remain the people we were born.

In our dreams we hear the songs of our native land
We hear and see the river,
her music never ends. 
We smell the smell of of cooking food. 
The dust and smell of cities,
the mud of village streets
the laughter of our people
as they speak the language of our hearts
and move with gentle ease.
 
We dream so much of Laos,
longing to return.
We will go back our brothers says
to kiss that sacred earth.

We hear the chants in ancient Wats,
We see the ladies dance.
The old man with his cigarette
tells an ancient tale of when the world was new.
 
One day we will return to live in our native land
To sing the songs
watch the dance 
and listen to the tales.
 
The memories that we carry are a part of Laos
in our hearts our land does live,
sustaining us in the chaos
of the lands that nurture us
reward us with their wealth.
Until the day we can return
once again to Laos.
 
D+D ?