POETRY

A Phantom in the Mist

A traveler’s pursuit in the dark alleys of Kathmandu

In the 80s I traveled to Nepal after serving in Cameroon, West Africa, for two years in the Peace Corps. I had wanted my post to be in Nepal, but alas, that was not to be. When my service ended I headed straight there and found I was transported to another time. I had not been around Hindu places of worship prior. I was enthralled by them. Enchanted. I remember this night, walking alone, inebriated but aware. The gods watching, waiting…

with a belly of food and a mind of gin i swagger into the night’s mist, quiet…

save the clanging of the rickshaw’s bell as it tries to run me down. i am alone tonight except the company of my smile.

and why not grin?

i’m in the middle kingdom, on a great adventure halfway around the world and two worlds away in time.

then i hear the flute, its melody strolling down the lane cobblestoned– a duet; with the percussion now of my echoing steps.

corner after corner i pass in pursuit, unaware of the huddled forms, their homes under temple eaves; nor the stalking dogs, salivating in a medieval rage…

all watching me– a phantom groping in the night. yet, no matter how fast i race the notes–these notes of buried despair– drift farther still…deeper…

beckoning into the hidden kingdom, of silence…

it’s raid complete.

A Phantom in the Mist is from the book At the Throne of the Mountain Kings: Poems Strewn from Africa to the Himalayas.