A   T r a v e l o g u e 

A quick shot of a parking lot or the station in Bombay

the grounds covered sleeping bodies like a rug others clustered waiting for the day

all this color is a wonder old sages grandmother yet a smell that clouds your gaze

a man curled up fast asleep his head rests on his detached wooden left leg

singing Om namo shivaya, Om namo shivaya, 

Om namo shivaya, Om namo shivaya

But like a busy bee in a blooming tree and a George-like curiosity

I set off with my orange mat and a dream of true enlightened ease

past every stoned out Baba blowing smoke at one another and fingering their string of beads

this same song permiates and vibrates through this town its mixed in with the breeze

they're singing Om namo shivaya, Om namo shivaya, 

Om namo shivaya, Om namo shivaya

So now I roam slow on a journey home, a three day five part flight

that old bug that I thought had flown came to visit me again last night

Im like a soaked washcloth with my cookies tossed and writhing from the pain

all of a sudden in that empty space I can feel that all remains is saying 

Om namo shivaya, Om namo shivaya

Om namo shivaya, Om namo shivaya

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