Middle Eastern Homesick Blues

My jacket on my shoulder,
flapping with the winter night wind,
my Ipod whispers a sad love song
and Jack Johnson goes:

   “It feels right
     It feels wrong
     It feels like when you have it,
     then it’s gone
     I want more
     More and more…”

I flicked my cigarette
as the bus approaches
And pulled a dirham
out of my pocket

   “…And if you steal the fire
     Give me some
     Cause the sun
     Disobeys while it waits
     for a friend to arrive
     from the past…”

I stepped in
glancing at the five people inside
all weary from
a hard day’s work

   “What holds us around, and around
     While we wait…”

Found myself a seat
next to the window
and closed my eyes
thinking of home…

The scent of mom’s freshly cooked
Pancit canton in the morning
Father’s jokes at lunch
and the fabled Pulupandan sunset…

Ten more days, I told myself,
Ten more days to spend
In a cacophony of keyboards
and phone calls.

My reverie was interrupted
by the speakers of a mosque
we happened to pass by,
beckoning the faithful for the Salah.

   “What holds us around, and around
     While we wait…”

(Damn! I missed Pinas…)