I Wish I Had Time For Poetry and Plays
I wish I had time for poetry and plays
My mind allowed
As I watched the same aged, bespectacled monk
For about the fifteenth time this month
Patter his bare feet
Upon the pavement
Of the dust filled lane.
Leaving me again
To contemplate
Broken shards of yesterday
In a faraway land that reminds me of
Secret Pacts made
To myself
In the time when
Getting too busy was never an option.
These the promises
Made in Nepalese skies
below the Lost Horizon
Of the Dalai Lama
Where,
I could not see
The coming years that would
Tumble earthwards
Like over ripe plums.
Nor the red Lama
Perched on an Annapurnan cliff
Chanting
Melodic verses
Centuries old
Tying a
Red ribbon round my
Wrist and soul.
There they lay.
Meditations that never were,
Given by Siddhartha, Confucius and, even a carpenter, from
Somewhere
Around
The Middle East.
Additionally,
They have even appeared
In soiled books,
Ashrams on the Ganges,
Scribbled on bar room napkins and
Occasionally
Confessed to
Unsuspecting passersby.
Where are these ruminations now
As the pages stick
Like books rarely read
In villages unseen
By streams only heard?
When all I want
Is a little respite from the traffic that
Hums next to the
Lane that is just beside my
Patio where that same monk will
Rise up
Early, don a saffron
Robe and greet dawn both eyes
Smiling.
Jeff Troyer
2006 (Chiang Mai, Thailand)
Copyright © Jeff Troyer | Year Posted 2010
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