Faces in the Hill
I ‘We will miss the train,’ I had cried, But you had to see the caves, ‘It will hardly take us time,’ you lied And we climbed All the way to a nearby hill An old gatekeeper quiet And cicadas, summer’s shrill ‘What is there at all?’ I mocked ‘Why bother dragging me?’ The old man, unimpressed, rasped ‘Whatever you want to see’ Wasted tickets, camera out We walked to empty caves The same old nothingness Desolate walls, rock hewn empty staves But one cave of them all The only one with carvings left, For this, a hundred rupees? The tickets, a silent theft Yet this one was full of art – A detailed scene of horrific war Death, army, a king with no heart This king though felt deep and close Despite that evil in his eyes A familiar face, I had known forever – Was this a dream of lies? And who was that taming him? A monk, a Boddhisattva on a hill The king entranced, he drops his sword He has...
