note

namaste,

european woman opens her small red and black notebook
tears the himalayas from her map
her trail of tears
white mountain gods

blue sky, eagles, deep gorges, waterfalls, cold wind
raging rivers
presses it all preserving persevering

between lined white crumpled empty sheets
scribbles memory 
down life's little road

with anxious nervous fingers 
she presses a tin foil magic pill free
swallows h2o my
how did i get here?
what if i die here?

metta.

Sparrow

Namaste,

A man waits with a weight scale. A bag of potatoes. Cool shade. Dawn the down against red bricks.
He shines his black dress shoes with a newspaper. 
A woman in a turquoise shawl decorates stone with her whisk broom. 
A woman unfolds green stalk onions on a white plastic bag. 
Boys slap Tantric wooden masks removing yesterday. 
A light rain falls.
Sparrow wings flutter in your face. Directly. 
Their air currents support six prop jets as curious enthralled tourists press their faces against plastic glimpsing Himalayan mystery and beauty.

Metta.

To Chiba

Namaste noble warrior of the Zen path,

Your haiku writing is inspirational. 
Farewell little French traveller someone whispered.
The father asks me if I have a (wi-fi) signal. You have three signal children and a beautiful signal wife. 
You don't need an electronic signal. He laughed with this small realization.
 
The crazy anxious German man insists on knowing the cremation cost.
I don't want to die, he said, The water is too dirty.
He needs medicine. He needs to slow down. His energy is a violent fireball. 
It consumes his desire. 
He creates his personal cremation ceremony in public places.
 
In dawn light women inspect orange and yellow flowers.
Men haggle over chickens for the new year sacrifice.
The chariot collided with a wall. Wooden wheels are pinned to stone. Towers shift toward gravity.
Boys play with tower brass bells, women offer fire flowers.
Men discuss future engineering projects.
 
Your Sakura cherry blossom are sublime. 
Seasons bloom with love, beauty.

Metta.