In a darkened room the angels hover
while a woman sleeps
And thunderous rain sends morse messages
to the heavens
while down the stairs a raging fire burns
warming cold souls
Twelve bells as the old clock marks the hour
not recognising day or night
Blossoms in the gardens fold their petals
fearing the dark
And all the while, gentle clouds of breath
escape those red lips
Oblivious, cocooned in starched sheets
on a bed of down
The woman rests before her last descent
Weeping angels watch
As the fire rages on
Whenever a papery butterfly
alights on a sweet scented bloom,
a rainbow arcs over the desert,
and there’s a smile on the face of the moon.
When the tiger bee sips from the chalice
of a perfectly formed daffodil,
spring instantly turns into summer,
and the sea becomes perfectly still.
When the gentle dove glides over rivers
that mirror his wings like a twin,
the rattle of guns promptly ceases,
and real peace will surely begin.
This beautiful Buddhist Peace Pagoda is set high on a hill overlooking Pokhara. I’m afraid we chickened out and took a hair-raising taxi ride to the top. But so worth it, for the peace, the clean clear air, and the views of the mountains with Pokhara laid out like a tablecloth beneath them. Gorgeous.
Peace Pagoda Pakhora
The spectacular view of moutains and Pakhora taken from the Peace Pagoda.