As I headed for snows of Kathmandu,
I took a flask of crimson wine,
A guitar and harmonica,
Some scraps of Keats…
Divine, I thought, divine is my inspiration
To Zen – the landscape led me on
To Roerich’s sunsets and to dawns
In Himalayan snows.
I sang in slow verses in temples grand,
Sublime,
their hallowed echoes – lifeless,
For Spring was on my mind.
Raw black brown earth to run on,
Unmuted reds of rage,
Torrential rain clamors,
Which mountain faces change.
And verdant greens
To shout, to challenge distant snows
We sire spring’s symphonies!
False tears of icicles clink
On Charon’s coins.