A village saint

I heard him singing again
amongst the birds
in the deep mountains
above the tea plantation.

Papa told me he lost his mind
to a dragon.

I saw him leading the buffalo
down the stream
dragging smoke from a pipe.

I had never waved nor smiled
too scared to lose my mind and
I was five.

Years gone by
I heard him singing no more.

Papa told me
he lost his voice to
the crows.

I watch him
dragging smoke from the pipe
like incense burning

I see angels chanting
paving the way for
resting.