Short Krishna

On Boston, downtown, I met a monk
His balding smile, stubbled
Looked into my eyes – fires of Krishna
With gifts we parted
Mine to him – the breath he’d one day take
His – The god of Boston

The charity all men seek is time
So this I gave to the kind
monk on Boston
His bow was mine to be had
So a bow I had
If only our silence had been greater
I could spend eternity

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s