Ancient Hall
thought occurs over and again
wandering these ancient halls
"this place is part of me"
and i know this is true
feel it in ways beyond words
that i have been here before
the faces of Bayon welcome me
speak in quiet tones
"welcome home"
ruins in decay
breathe sighs of—relief—
memories forgotten
in the hum of buzzing tourists
who wear against stone
rub against feet
the temple of Bayon
—here in Angkor Thom—
ancient city, ancient streets
veins flow through time
shuffling back and forth
Buddhas and kings
forgotten things haunt this place
histories carved in stone
—stories—
i hear apsara
the erotic rhythm
of spiritual dance
and follow corridors
searching for the sound
of this divinity
shadows fall
—a shaft of light—
my pupils adjust
and soon i am thrust
among fervent
Bayon ritual
scent of incense lingers
devatas guide the way
and i take sanctuary
among clouds of music
—percussion, chanting—
apsara dancing
hips sway—undulate—
breasts of mother's milk
medallions of desire
her head—there are many of them—
points to smiling faces
but doesn't everything here point to Buddha?
the faces—all as one—
turn to me grinning
"this is only the beginning"
he whispers and continues:
"everything here—it's not about me,
it's what's in you."
the light shifts, shadows move
music fades into throngs of language
pushing its way through
people pose for photos
—smiling faces in front of faces—
unaware of the magic in these places
these temples of Angkor Thom
these ancient songs
this ancient hall
thought occurs over and again
"this place is not part of me,
this place—is—me...
yet part of us all."
wandering these ancient halls
"this place is part of me"
and i know this is true
feel it in ways beyond words
that i have been here before
the faces of Bayon welcome me
speak in quiet tones
"welcome home"
ruins in decay
breathe sighs of—relief—
memories forgotten
in the hum of buzzing tourists
who wear against stone
rub against feet
the temple of Bayon
—here in Angkor Thom—
ancient city, ancient streets
veins flow through time
shuffling back and forth
Buddhas and kings
forgotten things haunt this place
histories carved in stone
—stories—
i hear apsara
the erotic rhythm
of spiritual dance
and follow corridors
searching for the sound
of this divinity
shadows fall
—a shaft of light—
my pupils adjust
and soon i am thrust
among fervent
Bayon ritual
scent of incense lingers
devatas guide the way
and i take sanctuary
among clouds of music
—percussion, chanting—
apsara dancing
hips sway—undulate—
breasts of mother's milk
medallions of desire
her head—there are many of them—
points to smiling faces
but doesn't everything here point to Buddha?
the faces—all as one—
turn to me grinning
"this is only the beginning"
he whispers and continues:
"everything here—it's not about me,
it's what's in you."
the light shifts, shadows move
music fades into throngs of language
pushing its way through
people pose for photos
—smiling faces in front of faces—
unaware of the magic in these places
these temples of Angkor Thom
these ancient songs
this ancient hall
thought occurs over and again
"this place is not part of me,
this place—is—me...
yet part of us all."
Credits
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