POETRY

A Phantom in the Mist

A traveler’s pursuit in the dark alleys of Kathmandu

Krishna the Flute Player, Janaka Stagnaro

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.