Kathmandu Poem by moon batchelder

ancient collision of long ago continents
forced granite mountains up high, to where heaven is
snow-covered behemoths loom over valleys to
hide mythic land of shambala from common view
nestled below them, a lush verdant valley where
people dwell simply, plant fields, raise their children, care
well for their elders. god's praise entertainment for
these noble people, (unlike drunken happy hour)
these bring out drums and flutes singing and dancing to
celebrate god, then return to their shanties. some food
to prepare, while they chant on their prayer beads. and
play with the children, sing folk songs together. no
t.v., no video games, not a seperate room
all live together, so simply. but happiness
seems no rare treasure to find nor unlikely gain
common possession, no words penned can quite explain.

cows wander freely about on the city streets.
sacred to them, people stop, offer signs of peace
to them. on narrow paths winding through alley ways
farmers just in from the field sit to sell the wares;
food from their gardens, or rice from the patties far
off in the distance from kathmandu proper. small
booths sell the fabrics for saris and kurtas of
bright colored rayons and silks all quite worthy of
royalty. smiles on the face of children who
follow me beg for a rupee or chocolate bar.
temples with monkeys a part of the scenery
filled with depictions and statues of gods believed.
air filled with fragrance of flowers exotic and
rare. monks chant softly, the sound so hypnotic and
tho quite surreal the surroundings, while strange yet seem
somehow familiar. perhaps from a passing dream