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Today's treat for you all is poetry. No references to Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz allowed.
Kathmandu
I arrived in twilight
Purple drifiting haze.
Tired,
I stumbled
Through two ancient pillars
Into an ancient world.
Knights, proud, noble, riding mighty iron steeds
Silk clad princesses, hair and scarves streaming,
Sat side saddle behind with delicate grace.
Hawkers and beggars throng the road,
Sharp chatter stabs through the misty veil of gathering dark.
In the bazaar, the silversmith works by candlelight
Fashioning filigree bells, prayer wheels.
The leatherworkers stall, all hung about with bags and purses,
The silk merchant, rich colours drifiting in the night air.
Each dimly lit shop, each stall
Candles glowing, oil lamps lit
Gives a shadowy glimpse of a life.
The farmer, harvesting heaps of ruby appples or
Golden lentils piled in sacks,
The old woman roasting bright yellow corn,
Sweet and charred,
The mother cooking rice in a pot, the open fire at the roadside,
The peddlar, tin and willow on his back.
The spice fragrant air, chants and the rattle of prayer wheels.
The moon rises over Kathmandu, and the dogs begin to bark.
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