There is bliss in losing oneself in Khao San,
Within the streets and alleys of anonymous lives:
The sum of everything worldly, insistent and driven,
Hankering for what is beyond ordinary time,
Beyond common way of sensing,
The collision of fates and resolution of desires.
I weave through these passages of pleasures
Without so much as thinking of their undercurrent,
Since they’re bound to come to surface
And make themselves manifest
As the time I read in a guesthouse room
A book on mysticism well deep into the night,
And in between sleep and wakefulness
I am roused by the quirky sex
Of a Thai couple in the next room.
Love life, love life… the mantra
That’s faintly drumming my head as I wake
To a morning of lambent light,
Hear a crow’s squawk rip through
The cool air, persistent and sad.
From the window while still lying in bed,
I see the solitary pilgrim land on the rooftop
Of an ochre building, regarding the silence
After its cry, my somber breathless gaze
From a far distance.