EP-ji’s Journal

By Evan Pausic

 

Trekking from Uttarkashi

Purity through              the great
H                         cleaning lady
cast to
H                           the side
and we’ve managed
not to pay      up      for time she used
H                      the unsolvable
puzzle
H                     we burned
instead                               of trying
H                      to solve
there was war
H                     we showed nukes
there was boredom
H                            we watched TV
instead of
H                      facing evil
we turn away
H                        from it
H                 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
H              can
feel you
and maybe you are
H             the only thing
H                  i’ve ever
felt
H             the master
is the
H          child
that does
H           not
H              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
H                  with no
trail to the top
H                  the children
seemed a cruel
H                 piece of
mockery
H                 the terraces
looked the part of
H                 a maze
i could not find
H                 my way
the fields
H                 were burning
the mountains
H                 they fell
on top of my
H                 head
the world
H                is
a circle
H                it moves
in a plurality
H               of singularity
God is anywhere not everywhere
H            why walk through
the valleys
H           of death
when
H             mountains of life
stand
H              beside them
fear
H             is very real
but
H             what dreams
will
H             flutter away
from
H              the cool dark
shadow
H              what flowers
will
H              wither and lose
their
H              souls
there is pain in suffering
H              but more
in love
H               the game
of life
H               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
H           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
H          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
H         like fire eats
a pine needle
H         away
squish
H         or crackle
fire
H          or slime
the same
H           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
H        ceiling
all angled like
H         our feelings
maybe it didn’t
H         make sense
once or
H          twice
each moment
H           approaches
teeming with laughter
H           and unsullied
freeing youth
H           for once
the body
H            mirrors
the soul’s
H             instinct
they look
H              like love
to me
H              the mother
in us grows
H              strong
we are all
H             our mothers
of our future(s)

 

return from Dodital

There were two
H          groups
the first
H          on a
pilgrimage
H           to love
the second
faced a trial
H            left
by the ancients
H           as far
as i know
H           they went
swimming
H           through snow
walked in a god’s
blood
H             found
the temple mount
H              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
H            the children scream
the walls they tilt
H             the humans dream
the place to find
H             the world denying
the grain to grind
H             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
H            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
H            now he’s in a small town
above all others
H            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
H            everywhere
pints of chai, hookah smoke floating
H            above,
beggars begging, rocks cracking
H            under
the swing of a pickaxe, orange robes
H            on
holy men, any man looking dead
H            in
a bed of concrete and pollution