Nepal : of folk and land

An old man waits, smoke in hand

While buses pass, sit or stand.

Takes a breath of smoke and dust,

Blows a dream of steel turned rust.

Assumes the gift of charity

Laughs in the face of integrity,

Each deep crease a story told.

Each glazed eye a truth witheld.

With calloused hands and weathered face

A pot is mended, garments laced

Through festive silk and painted face

Steps rehearsed with feline grace

A smile is born a cheeky grin

Which lacks remorse, which lacks chagrin.

An infant man with doleful stare

Short of stature, short of grace

Cries the line of a thousand friends

Cries no tears for bitter ends

For what is given is all there is

What ungiven, a hallowed bliss.

A range of hills, no soil unturned

No matter cliff nor tree nor burn

A people carry a foreign load

A people dream of lands abroad.

A mountain range the source of dreams

First to shine, last to fade.

A mountain range, the death of whims

Dreamt of wealth and bragged charade.

Sagarmatha, Chomolungma

A name revered, a name to be feared

A name not worn as a badge of cheer.


Posted on November 2, 2010, in Nepal, Photography, Random Musings and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. I stumbled across your website today for the first time and I’m extremely impressed!! Some really well thought out articles together with a willingness to share your wealth of knowledge make for great reading.

    I particularly liked the poetry. Is that another string to your bow Dylan? It’s something I’ve also dabbled in in the past (in haiku form) as I think it adds a whole new dimension to photography. Definitely worth exploring further!

    Keep up the good work!


  2. Thanks very much Andrew 🙂 The poetry is something I’ve been dabbling in for years since the years of teenage angst. I’m glad to be writing less these days as the muse is more often negative emotions. Glad you liked this entry though !

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