My Future In Khatmandu Poem by Burgess Needle

MY FUTURE IN KHATMANDU

The old man read my palm
shook his head
and sighed.
You shall have no power, he declared.
Excuse me?
No power, he repeated.
No power and no children.
No power, no children and a short life.
Dust half as old as Jesus
fell silently around us
and water streamed
From sculpted elephant trunks.
Everest ignored us.
Massive tectonic plates
just below grumbled.
The old man had power.
I had none.
No children either.
Forty years later I inhale
the aroma of fresh basil
and realize I’m tired
Of waiting for trumpets to announce
The end of this short life.
I’m impatient for sunrise.
Another day to prove him wrong.