Ambaro.

Within arid depths of a land below
abides the humble village of l’Ambaro.

A world where clothing is prized but threadbare;
a world where meals are luxuries proved rare.

A world where days with famine are fraught;
a world the remaining earth long forgot.

But this is a place where
pure are the hearts,
simple are the joys,
the love of each part.

Where drums hum daily
their languid song,
enchanting the children
all the day long.

Where families dance into
the hallowed night,
merriment echoing
under faint moonlight.

Where sand curls freely
about their feet,
naked, synchronized,
stomped to each beat.

Until finally twilight
snatches the hills,
descending upon them
a shuddering chill.

Then filled with cheer
they part by the number
into their huts to
unite in deep slumber.

This is the place the world left behind–
a place that will always be in the back of my mind.

•      •      •

 My host village of Ambaro, Southern Madagascar