Rice painting

A gift from the earth
A gift from the earth

Two long dry seasons led to drought

And so one crop we went without.

Now the time is here once more

To pull the seedlings from the floor.

Then transplant them to grow tall

And give us food and sustenance for all.

Picking rice seedlings all alone

Picking rice seedlings all alone

Cool Breeze in Hua Hin

If you feel like taking a two hour drive South from Bangkok and chilling out by the sea there’s a Cool Breeze in Hua Hin. Drive down Soi 55, take a right at the end past the small Chinese temple and 150 metres later along the narrow road you will find the charming Cool Breeze tapas restaurant. It is not the typical tapas bar you will find in the bodegas of the Andalucian region of Southern Spain where the dishes are laid out under glass counter tops but it makes a welcome change from the cheap and cheerful daily plethora of Thai street food.

Roadside terrace
Roadside terrace

Continue reading Cool Breeze in Hua Hin


Are you still asking questions

Of minds that cannot see.

Searching for the answers.

Answers there’ll never be.

Are you waiting for a moment,

A time when we’re all free.

Are you waiting for a time

Of truth and honesty.

You cannot go away

Until that day arrives.

Don’t you ever go away;

Please keep the hope alive.

When we were young


When we were young

Nothing seemed to matter much.

When we were young

Sparks flew in a single touch.

When we were young

We often knew not wrong or right.

When we were young

We flew into the blinding light.

As moths to a flame

Without thought for the consequence

Our wings on fire

We surrendered to decadence.

Then all too soon youth flew away;

Are we whole? Are we now one?

No looking back, no second chance,

As we walk into the setting sun.

Nomads of the sea

No one wants us

For we are Moken.

Long time here yet

Still not broken.


Three hundred years and more,

Stateless nomads of the sea.

Skilled seafarers far from shore,

We had no home but we were free.


No schooling now for our children.

In sickness, we have no care.

Nomads still, we carry on.

Tourists, they just stop and stare.


Poorer now and losing face;

No basic rights in any land.

Exploited by this venal place;

We are just a one man band.


They used our skills for gain;

They made us dive too deep;

‘Nam neeb’ and dynamite destroyed us;

Now we’re just a crippled heap.


Poor man, rich man, beggar man, thief.

Seldom do we our stories write.

We are but nothing in this land.

But this land is ours by our birthright.


Even where we’ve lived for years

They will not let us call home.

Ancestral bones are buried deep

In land that we can never own.


Fish and forage;

Land or sea.

Shelter scavenged we accept.

Never discerning, we were free.


When we were young

We dived and dined.

Our great sea gave

Fish and shells and lobsters fine.


From Koh Phuket to Surin Islands,

Free to fish on natures patch.

Now from Surin we are banned;

No turtles, cucumber, clams to catch.


Without the sea we cannot live.

Sell a photo for a buck.

Embarassed, begging for some food.

Does any tourist give a fuck.


Thai, Burmese, Rohingya, Moken.

In the big dream many others

See the world for what it is,

Because forever we are brothers.


Still no one wants us.

We are Moken.

Long time here yet

Still not broken.


Madeleine Lenagh

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