Flying with the donkey in the mountains( Inspired by thoughts of my friend Rajah Bannerjee

The Tibetan bells
are relevant
they peal into my soul
the spirit takes
and the mountains
have their role

in creating wind
and light
to pull the senses
and to sweep
the heart beats
from exertion
and after a day of that
such sleep

somewhere in some
Monastery hewn
out of the rocks
subjected to an evil wind
that freezes
through my socks

that isolates the spirit
and sanctifies my pee
and mats my hair
in tighter knots
than I could possibly

Imagine gongs
across a turquoise sky
where eagles
run the gauntlet
and where vultures
do or die

the sun is far away
blasts through
and still it blinds the eyes
and any solitary
returns with
aching thighs

what of the ice capped mountains
the Himalaya’s, they
climb into the clouds
they do it everyday

the music of the mountains
plays havoc with
one’s heart
one’s breath
begins to falter
I must get back on the cart

and kick my legs
and wonder
will I get back alive
the donkey too is wondering
if he will survive

for now he’s carrying me
as well
and the provisions
really he
feels really justified
in leaping
to infinity

it might be, a blessing
we will both together
into the blue and end up
on the rocks below
I sigh
for the ugliest of
vultures who will
choke on us until
every single bit of us
is gone and all is still

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