Backpacking in Nepal, June 1971

 
Backpacking in Nepal, June 1971
 
Resting in a hill station guest-house,
over the worst of dysentery
the bazaar dealer’s tab,
“Yellow Sunshine. San Francisco. Good shit.”
is starting to hit
and I’m smoking a chillum of charas.
 
Through the fog of writhing smoke
and dancing rainbow mountain mists,
I watch a woman,
a Mahavidya – maybe
pad the jasmine track
to a distant wayside shrine.
 
Pennants and wind chimes
line the pathway.
Incense drapes the trees.
 
She sings a hymn;
echoing against granite crags
returning in the songs of birds
it entrances me
as it mystifies me –
 
her gods are not known to me, 
all gods are unknown to me.
 
She made the journey yesterday,
shoeless,
and the day before.
 
I feel the pulse of
foot… foot… foot
bruising the grass.
And with each thud
the sighing of rooted blades
that would walk beside her
if they could.
 
I am rooted too.
 
 

 

© coolhermit 2020
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Albermund

I think the first line is an infiltrater. Well written as usual. Interesting, educational. Not so many funnies but really not necessary here. Cheers albert 🙂

Slovitt

very well written, no waste. you bring the poem around and to a strong conclusion “all gods are unknown to me.” yes, i did some sunshine in the 70’s, and other variations too. memorable and altering. one of your better pieces, in fact very good. thanks, swep

Andrea

I remember most of that – except it was in North Africa 🙂 Took me back, seriously…

Gee

Some beautiful phrases in this – And the sighing of the rooted blades
That would walk beside her
If they could.
I’m no expert on poetry – not even close – but there are some things that just connect with you, and this is one. Loved it.

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