Give me your wishes and ill swaddle them deep and warm inside my insecurities.
Breath through the craters that plague your ruined mind; scrape against your lungs.
I broke down somewhere between Tamil and Jawalakhel's traffic circle. The blind cafe gave me relief.
I turned aside tiger balm, couldn't get rid of slick shoes slinging songs. The mountains climbed higher as the days wore on.
That hill. Teaching English. Carrying a television on the back of a motorbike, past a corner and into the sunrise of Fish Tail. I couldn't believe the things you were showing me, the people you held inside.
Kathmandu you remember me. I was only there for a short time. You gave me a name, Barroon it was. You startled me in the night as I walked up the path to our home.
You welcomed me with a bowl of lentils and a folded hat. You showed me who you are, the kind of endless in your will makes me feel small.
Makes me feel.
No comments:
Post a Comment