Marble floors surround the Bo tree,
birds' calls, deep shade and fluttering leaves.
Was I ever anywhere else?
Dusk falling buffaloes, wandered home,
feed from large bowls fronting the houses.
Old ashram doors open over a river of sand.
Smoke stacks hiding brickwork fires belch in the night,
old clay to new homes,
empty time moving.
Paradakshina -
slowly pacing footfall on marble
soft swish of passing robes around the square
mandala of the lamp-lit temple grounds
one side, citywards, noisy, the other not.
Nirvana and samsara
come up and fade away
as round and round I go.
Deep in the ancient cell below massive stones
candles weave shadows where the still image glows
in the bright silence - no one moves.
October 1997.