DME HUM
TRAVERSE 123
I pray to be back , near the blue where monasteries cling to crags and little lamas run up the roof summoned to dinner by a conch call .
I long to be back on the narrow roads to follow sparkling rivers down below to again duck under rock overhangs with folds like heavy theatre curtains .
Om Mani Padme Hum Would the flying horses take me back there ? The world prays for an end to the pandemic but by the time it is over , I will be too .
My riding jacket hangs limp shoulders bleached by sunlight cuffs frayed by mountain dust . Like me , it is now a hollow shell .
High passes , rarefied air , slippery descents , sticky mud , snow , sleet , rain and fog , sunny days , freezing nights .
Humbled by generous acts I remain thankful to all those yak herders who fed us , the biker who parted with his only spare .
Truck drivers turned rescuers ,
Balti farmers who gave us shelter Tibetan expats helping hands , the United Nations of Altitude
Om Mani Padme Hum Avalokitesvara the Compassionate will you see I come back as a biker-poet to ride in the clouds ?
Maria Visconti