Chath pierSath The Rose of Battambang

The Rose of Battambang

chath pier sath

Lotus in a swamp by a dusty road, She stands, waiting for someone to see her. I saw her, and she didn’t know. She was in Kop Khmoung, Where blood replaced the green rice fields. She died in a temple, where they put the sick and dying. Men desecrated the sacred statues. The cruel were too savage to worship mute stone Carved into the spoken, inhabitable Buddha. But she emerged, born and reborn, With all human resilience in her eyes. She rises more beautiful than ever, pink flesh, Reticent stare, needles and thorns Which thread and stitch her life back whole. She’s a rose Sin Sisamouth had sung and praised. She’s my sister, waiting for me to return home.