With my Holland/Inda trip now completed, I would like to close with the poem, “Holland”. The poem, “Mayapura,” is already done.
Dad and Mom used to talk about endless canals
Of tulips, flat terrain, bicycles, and windmills
That became a big part of their personal annals
From days of somber skies, weather with bone chills
My visit to the Netherlands confirmed all
Photos of family from the period pre-to-post war
Were flashing in my head as was the sport voet bal
A craze maintained by the team in orange up to score
A cultural place laced in Rembrandtish charm
Lots still believe in old values, even the Almighty
And the boer is still committed to the farm
As for the cool wooden shoes Dad then wore
Well, the pair remains now purely ornamental
Reflecting a golden past no one should ignore
A corner of bygone gloom on Amsterdam’s Prinsengracht
Here the Frank family hid from the Nazi phalanx
Dark times telling us that human hatred is taught
And are conscious of a similar surging madness
The spirit is “Let’s be respectful, let’s be kind
Cast a smile like a sunray and dodge sadness”
Those parental heartstrings are pulling me here
I see the project as a dreamer’s rubber band
Bouncing from coast to coast, ah, smell the salt air
It would be a lack of interest for Mt. Everest climbers
For those who like to chant mantras by dikes and waters
Ideal, especially when approaching the age of an old-timer
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