Kathmandu
He had never seen the temple
As he leaned against the blessed stone.
He never saw the mountain
Which took lives, and tried, and never forgave.
His eyes never rose above your knees
And he never saw your shoes
As his body decayed faster than an avalanche.
His mind vanising quicker than the warmth
To be given from the descending coin or two
Flicked from our hands
Into his hat of greasy wool.
His prayer-like hands thanking
And he pushed himself away,
To another time
Another place.
Copyright © Stuart Ackerman | Year Posted 2015
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