Poems that I love

From Psalm 104:19 He made the moon for the seasons; The sun knows the place of its setting. Monsoon might have ended.  Its descent into the cold Autumn breeze Has certainly begun. Last night the rain only started  After darkness had completely Enveloped our highest peak. It’s colder. The sun sets well before dinner Change shows its face. When the moon couldn’t show its face. The only sound was the loud  Thunder shaking the grass. The dogs didn’t bark It was sudden.  It woke me from a fitful sleep. Dussehra was just a few days ago. Hoping that good wins the day They burnt Ravana  Just a flimsy scarecrow. Evil is far more terrifying Ask the thunder. Basho says, “Here’s a foolish notion—       the spirit world is like       an autumn evening.” Foolish flimsy Zen. Harsh drives me in a battered taxi. He’s played both Bhishma and Parjánya. He woke up this morning  Like a snow-covered mountain. I woke up ...

Psalm 66:10-16 For thou, O God, hast proved us: thou hast tried us, as silver is tried. Thou broughtest us into the net; thou laidst affliction upon our loins. Thou hast caused men to ride over our heads; we went through fire and through water: but thou broughtest us out into a wealthy place. I will go into thy house with burnt offerings: I will pay thee my vows, Which my lips have uttered, and my mouth hath spoken, when I was in trouble. I will offer unto thee burnt sacrifices of fatlings, with the incense of rams; I will offer bullocks with goats. Selah. Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul. The priest was tall, almost elegant, slim, Standing tall the full length of his spine,  With a distinguished touch of gray in his beard. Gestures and smile to match. He looked almost a bishop with a bright red robe,  Quite unlike most of the other Nepali men I’d met. Rama told us to remain inside For the puja. She sounded rather mysterious...