Der letzte Blogeintrag vor meiner Reise nach Thailand und Kambodscha endete mit einem Gedicht von Allen Ginsberg. Hiermit nehme ich den Faden auf und starte eine neue Blogserie, inspiriert von der Reise, die mich tief berührt hat.

Song for Cambodia

To Allen Ginsberg

Sitting on a tuk tuk
shaken, blown over by dust
Khmer-scarf in my face
close to the water
Sir, you ok?
(My eyes, the traitors)
Don’t worry, I’m ok

Oh mother earth
I bow to you
I cry for you
I beg for mercy
for me for you for your children for who we are for what we are
for our beauty for your beauty
mother earth

I bow to you
mother earth
for reconnecting me
to human kind
for opening my eyes
to see how blessed
I am

Oh children of Cambodia
One dolla’ Sir, please, one dolla, Sir
for postcards and stickers and magnets
You will never go to school
What you wear is all you have:
a dirty shirt, some dirty shorts, no shoes of course
Oh children
One dollar for postcards of temples for ancient gods
I bow to you, oh children
I kneel down and put my forehead to the ground, oh children of Cambodia

Oh mothers of Cambodia
Selling fruit and stuffed frog and sticky rice in bamboo tubes on dirty roadsides
Selling scarves n crafts, selling gasoline in coke bottles, selling coconut n mango n banana n jackfruit on wooden stands under tropical trees on dirty roadsides
Mothers of Cambodia I fold my hands and bow my head to you

Oh boat driver boy
How young are you? 8, 9 or 10?
My heart took a leap
A child
driving me on a boat along the river passing a village on stilts towards the lake
to see sunset
I trembled all the way
I was struck
What a skilled driver you are and how much fun you seem to have
Running back and forth, lifting the motor, sinking it back into the brown water, starting the engine on a rope pushing us through many many other boats of children captains
A boys dream driving a boat all day long
Oh young boat driver boy
Do you know who you are?
Do you know who I am?
Do you know where I’m from?
Do you know how I live?
Do you see it on TV or on a smartphone once in a while?
Oh young boy
You sleep on the boat at night like so many others
No place to go to, no home, no mother, no father, like so many others
Oh boy
Your smile burns in my soul

I lay my belly to the ground
I stretch in the dirt
Why, mother earth, I ask why, why, why?
Why is there a smile in this boys face?
Why tears in my eyes?

I bow to you little gecko, to you Mr. Lina my sixteen year old tuk-tuk driver, to all the cocks and cooks in the streets, to the women in hammocks on the market swaying above their goods, to the masseurs, to the bartenders, to the motorbike drivers, to the chambermaids, to the receptionists bowing to me every morning, to the waiters and waitresses, to the flooded mangrove forest, to the canoe drivers, to the last living dolphins in the Mekong river, to the boat driving boy, to the drag queens of the Blue Chillie bar, to the monks with their golden bowls, to the victims of landmines collecting money doing music, to the coconuts, the noodle soups, the lok lak dishes, the mango shakes, the sky bar, to the stars

I bow to you, people of Cambodia, for being so humble, so serene, so considerate, so devoted, so patient

I feel your love, I am in love, I am love

Oh Allen, when I was a little boy
Boys killed and killed and killed out there in the fields
The world: Genozide after Genozide after Genozide
You, Allen!
You were part of a movement, you believed in peace back then
They wore flowers in their hair.
You believed that words can change the world
and meditation
I feel ridiculous and pathetic
trying to be like you
trying to express

And then I see
There is no mercy, there will never be
There is only gratefulness
And then I bow, and then I cry, and then I smile
(again)

For we don’t need no mercy
we need love
For we don’t need no holy
we need life
For we don’t need no guidance
we need wisdom
For we don’t need no gods, mother earth
we need to wake up

Then I wake up and see the face of Buddha
He opens his eyes and smiles his eternal smile
Strange beauty, never seen, never so close
Sudden asian fling
And I touch his skin, and I touch his chin and I touch his chest his crotch his ass
I kiss his lips his cheeks his bellybutton, butt&tighs
I lick his rose his sholderblades his armpits his head his thick black hair
Oh Allen, yes, there’s a lot of ass in the world (there’s a lot of cunt too)
And I fell for every single one for I was overwhelmed with love and affection

Why? Why are they always smiling?
So poor and yet so happy?

Epilog

Berlin, Du kalte matschige Schnauze
empfängst mich mit Grummeln
mit unzufriedenen, mürrischen Winterdepressiven

Bettlerin am Hermannplatz
kauerst zitternd auch bei 0° am selben Platz
noch mehr Pickel blutig gekratzt
Dein Kopf eine einzige Wunde
Du schreist, Du flehst, Du wehrst Geister ab
Dämonen reiten Dich
Was tust du dort?
Im reichsten Land der Welt mit Vollbeschäftigung?
Was tue ich hier?
Vorbeigehen wie immer
Selten einen Euro in Deinen Becher werfen

Wie ich sie emotional ausnutze, alle
Empathie empfinden, um sich besser zu fühlen
Das Elend von der sicheren Warte aus beschauen

No, No, No!

Eine Todsünde wär’s, nicht die Schönheit zu feiern
Nicht die Möglichkeiten zu nutzen
Keine Dankbarkeit zu empfinden
Nicht zu sehen
Nicht zu spüren
Nicht zu schwelgen
Nicht zu jubeln