You trudge the slopes of Brunei, scale
Biang with the fear that you will fail,
the wrath of Mother Nature beating
down on you, the deluge unrelenting.
The muddy grounds bumpy and knobby,
the thorns of reminiscence cutting
into your delicate skin, creating art,
a reminder of the wilderness,
of the losses inflicted, of the need to part,
of the many left behind, or the ones to come.
A broken cycle, a break in your life,
an intermittent crash, like the raindrops
that seem to tease the grit of men,
a rhyme, a beat, as the rain caresses
and cuts at the same time, an irregularity -
it forces itself upon you, you had no choice.
You look longingly into the sea of clouds,
the ebb and flow of charred marshmallows
like the thoughts that fly through your mind,
at whizzing speeds, but your legs ache climbing
your mind aches thinking,
of a world topsy turvy,
confusion unresolved.
The bird chirps, the exotic insect calls form
a cacophony, a deviation from the norm,
a drum beat repeats itself in your head.
You close your eyes, hope you are not dead,
as you continue on the uphill battle,
moving along the climb of life,
and it is looking bleak.
