Faded light on a veranda,
fans turning slowly in the heat.
The scent of clove and coffee
rises with the hum of insects.

Children run barefoot
through the high grass of memory,
laughter echoing
between trees heavy with time.

A photograph,sepia and still,
captures smiles
that no longer speak,
but linger in the dust of drawers
and the hush of late afternoons.

Tempo Doeloe-
not a place,
but a feeling,
soft as batik
and distant as a dream.