I’ve looted mountain abbeys in Nepal,
And marveled at their gods of tangerine,
And idols with huge eyes of beryls green
To gape at arcane writings on the wall.
Now when I sleep my mind is like a squall
In Winter climes. No more am I serene
And all regard me as a thing unclean
From Bombay to the ports of Senegal.
So now I wander where the steep trails rise
Above the plain, beyond the cold plateau,
My life is bleak and far from Paradise
As I track through this endless waste of snow,
For I am unrepentant, hear the drums,
Of some stupendous death, till karma comes.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Superb
Excellent as usual, my friend. Imagery, rhythm and rhyme are just fine. Hope all is going well with you. Again, well done. -
I think this is a metaphor that people find hard to see. I find it refreshing compared to most of the poetry I have read today. For many, life is but a waiting game, as they don't know what else to do but wait. Well conceived and written.
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in an Asian inspired mood today? great imagery....i like the bit about the idols...i've always found all that rather interesting.
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