Old sadhu of Kathmandu
Where few stop to know him
Man of wisdom there amongst
His braided locks that melted into
Never ending worn out beard.
Old sadhu follows in footsteps
Of those who dwelt before him
To continue where no disciples tread
Or anyone to point toward
His outward simplistic raggedness.
Old sadhu seated beneath
A stupa of two thousand whitewashed years
With eyes of a Buddha guarded by elephants
Astride steps of feet and sweat
And prayer wheels turning in the sun.
Old sadhu always there
His hair bleached in wisdom
With wrinkled skin and coiling legs
Upon a blackened fraying mat
Amongst dusty passers by in chatter.
Jan ’96
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