This is the house of Love, which has no bound nor end.

Kathmandu Calling

A horn found its way into the house
to wake me at sunrise, nothing soft
about this old place now choked by
too many motorbikes constantly calling
out their existence to avoid crashing
in the chaos of a new day’s rush.

But this rousing sound was followed
in quick succession by a bird in the inner
courtyard calling out in perfect mimicry
the music of the street, and someone
walking past ringing a bell to the same beat
as the belligerent drivers, clearly laughing
at this great joke which jerked me out of sleep
and slipped me with such wonder through
three sounds into another simple day:

the first to get me out of mind,
the second cosmic hum,
the third, an echo in between
making it transmissive, this striving
to stay awake.


Understand dependence

In the cave