Every bamboo in south-east Asia is turning
yellow in the groves
in the last week of November – the month
of eating oranges in loneliness
Idols of owls and elephants hug
the warriors in sleep , licking the scars
of the massacre and huge defeats . Colourful balloons
go up between old immigration buildings
gasping for baby food and oxygen
I know I need to mend my shoes
clip my nails
shampoo my arm pits, take extra medicines
for my shadow in grief
I have to search the alleys and back alleys
of the autumn’s grove
for a scarlet balloon in my sleep