Monk and Traveller


                                 Monk and Traveller

Monk said no word,
seemed he never would.
Traveller prepared to go,
did not mind, he understood.
At hut door, he turned.
Monk shone, said:
May Yamantaka,
Destroyer of the God of Death,
step from his heaven,
to defend you when you need his aid.
Among urban fume, city clatter,
may you hear, far off,
a Himalayan temple gong,
an old goat herder
play on a wooden flute,
a shepherd song.
Every house you find as you roam
be the home where your heart may rest,
your soul belong.
Blessings from east to west,
north to south,
as you move through
the seasons strong.
May your mind metropolis
lift to a higher key,
the holy ones cleanse your windows,
oil your wheels,
reveal wisdom books,
open seals.
When you walk in the fair ground of the world,
and choose for yourself a treat
you would not eat at any other time,
be it candy floss, toffee apple or milk shake,
may that fresh taste make
something deep within you wake,
so you see the plum and crocus clouds,
bold above the earthly carousel,
and you grasp the wonder
that truly all is well.
And may the parliament of poets
pen lines to ponder on your path,
the clown of the god king’s court
remind you that beyond the enlightened smile,
there is the blessed laugh.
Monk fell silent, smiled,
gave his head a nod.
Traveller said thanks,
wondered if he need seek
the servant of another god.


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