EP-ji’s Journal

By Evan Pausic

 

Trekking from Uttarkashi

Purity through              the great
H                         cleaning lady
cast to
                         the side
and we’ve managed
not to pay      up      for time she used
                    the unsolvable
puzzle
H                     we burned
instead                               of trying
                    to solve
there was war
                   we showed nukes
there was boredom
                          we watched TV
instead of
H                      facing evil
we turn away
                      from it
               and let it greedily
stare at our
H                            bare flesh
stripped of all armor
on the mountaintops
H                i thought
i may have seen
H              your face
i don’t
believe
H              you
but i
            can
feel you
and maybe you are
H             the only thing
H                  i’ve ever
felt
           the master
is the
        child
that does
         not
            cry
and smiles
at the slightest
within and without

 

Morning in Agora

Doubt grew like
H                     a field of
yellow mustard
H                   in the biting
cold air
H                   anxiety was
a mountain
                with no
trail to the top
H                  the children
seemed a cruel
H                 piece of
mockery
H                 the terraces
looked the part of
               a maze
i could not find
               my way
the fields
               were burning
the mountains
               they fell
on top of my
               head
the world
              is
a circle
H                it moves
in a plurality
             of singularity
God is anywhere not everywhere
          why walk through
the valleys
H           of death
when
H             mountains of life
stand
            beside them
fear
           is very real
but
H             what dreams
will
H             flutter away
from
H              the cool dark
shadow
            what flowers
will
H              wither and lose
their
            souls
there is pain in suffering
            but more
in love
H               the game
of life
             is sickening
at times
H              i feel it’s
time to take
H              my piece off the board
but then all the evil and pain would remain
the good it would be just another memory

 

OH-Panna

piles of manure
         may cover
the terraces
H          and fields
of my dreams
H          if it is spread
the flowers
H          of my spirit
bloom with ease
H          a high sinewy
voice leads us on
H         a life quilt
on curiosity’s mound
H          up and down
time spent
        on the mountains
white crown
H         it’s a sound
but not a sound
child of the sun

 

Indian kettle corn

we sit hands
H      dug into Orange
juicy temptation
H        falls down
into a bowl
       like fire eats
a pine needle
H         away
squish
       or crackle
fire
        or slime
the same
         endings
H           no ending
so i choose to see
Orange

 

Ansika and Akhil

Worn wooden steps
loud thuds
H       in the smoky
attic with a slanted
      ceiling
all angled like
H         our feelings
maybe it didn’t
H         make sense
once or
        twice
each moment
         approaches
teeming with laughter
H           and unsullied
freeing youth
         for once
the body
          mirrors
the soul’s
H             instinct
they look
            like love
to me
H              the mother
in us grows
            strong
we are all
           our mothers
of our future(s)

 

return from Dodital

There were two
H          groups
the first
        on a
pilgrimage
H           to love
the second
faced a trial
          left
by the ancients
H           as far
as i know
         they went
swimming
H           through snow
walked in a god’s
blood
H             found
the temple mount
            and
ran down the mountainside
H               as far
as i know
i stayed home

 

shoes!

the quiet clamor
H            the break of day
the unsaid banter
H            the urns made of clay
the bridges are built
          the children scream
the walls they tilt
           the humans dream
the place to find
H             the world denying
the grain to grind
           the endless silent crying
the bleeding bead
H              the rested head

 

a rock (Himalayan in this case)

a rock
beneath my foot
caught in a state of neither life or death
decidedly undecidedly neutral
emancipated from life never having lived
forgetting everything all the time
going wherever chance throws it
heaven
is not in its imagination
jerking it this way and that it
Knows its place by not knowing
laughter only comes with the breeze
many years have passed it by
nothing could ever make it ask why
open to the untamable creatures
prowling day and night
questions that seem
resolutely
scary
to
us
verifiably impassable
working for
x’s
young
zeus’s of flagrant stupidity

 

homesick

i look around at what i see
many of these things are just
letters from home clearly
left there for me i can’t
stop looking at what i see

 

our Moses

lumbu lumbu
they scream
H          at the tall blonde bearded man
he walks down their
H            city’s streets
aware of his own indifferent air
nay nay
           days later
H            he’s fully clothed
underwater
H            talking about
some green unicorn
fish
bring in the boats
bring in the boats
H            a ridiculous helmet sits
on this man’s head
maybe it’s telling him what to do
           now he’s in a small town
above all others
           looking into the eyes
of its people speaking
without words
H            unknowingly helping
H            to clean the dirt
and blood
off of my skin
side by side
anywhere

 

last of Delhi

Gleaming statues, the smell of spices
           everywhere
pints of chai, hookah smoke floating
H            above,
beggars begging, rocks cracking
           under
the swing of a pickaxe, orange robes
           on
holy men, any man looking dead
           in
a bed of concrete and pollution

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