.
The ninety-two percent at sunset.
Tourism charter,
Down by the river,
Warmth still trapped,
Behind camera lenses,
In twenty one languages,
Admired in deck-chair phrases.
Sun,
Our new alchemist,
For clouds gone gold,
Trees crowd the scene from us,
Surrounding the view,
Tigers over there,
Same way that I'm really naked,
Under the all these clothes,
Somewhere,
Under a clear sky,
Vast, sans nimbus, cumulus',
Just a few stretch-markings,
White on blue, all turning pink.
I flutter my thoughts,
As birds mumble back across the sky,
As it understates the moon,
Hung there at the wrong angle,
The crickets still applaud anyway,
At the imperfections,
That I crowd here with
Could gaze away,
Ninety-two percent of them,
Away from this,
Away from me,
Away with me.
Visitor,
Expanding to fill the sky,
Himself,
Set the sun,
Everything in its place,
Everything that gathers a crowd,
All of it,
Fashionably late reflections,
Inside blinking slithered light on waters,
The sun ushered down now,
Behind receptive trees,
Some covenant to keep,
The jungles secrets,
Safe.
Across the river,
Keep them safe,
From the ninety two percent of me.
______________________________________________
Written at Sauraha, right on the edge of Chitwan National Park, Nepal. My first entry for notebook number six... and here we go again.
-Peace
No comments:
Post a Comment