Seen

Saw a mortar, But not Baba Yaga's. Ate a soup With nothing but crabs. Chanted a mantra — Hare Krishna. Swiped a Fanta From under Vishnu's nose. Karma got cleansed — The kind I had sown. In a Balinese temple, In a cold pool. Beheld the sources Of Nepal's rivers. Lines were being born, Govinda Gopala. Touched a Buddha Hailing from Shambhala. Found Garuda In the labyrinths of a mandala. Spun the mani wheels Below Annapurna. Sniffed a volcano's Sulfur, like a madman. Waded knee-deep in mud Through a rice field. To the captivity of three angels I gave in. I'm sick. Sped off to the Himalayas — From Nepali, "mountains". Here the sun, blazing, Drives dirt out through the pores. Soaked my loins In cool streams. And cursed the narrow seats On airplanes. Sank to the bottom On my reserve of air. Through a night window Gazed out from a sleeper bus. Shouted "mot hai ba" When the Viets drink beer. With a smile — "suksma", "Mevali" — playfully. Haggled and bargained Over every trifle. At corpses, as in a morgue, at the burning flame In Pashupatinath I watched, accepting. The orange sadhus — Holy? I don't know. What are traffic lights for? You can drive without them. Mobile thieves — Careful on the beach. Manali, lingams, Dal bhat and Viet Cong, Pho bo, Hare Rama, Kampuchea and Hmong. So many questions. Got tangled in faiths. On narrow roads And different examples. I understood that here Borders are a bit rubbed out. Their wild mix Swirls like incense smoke. Their strange way of life A European can't grasp. It's better to look at Asia Out of the heart.