In the Old Temple at Nara

Japanese inspired poem about self-control and our relationship to the world

Barefoot and shivering,
my toes embedded
in the cool damp sand

Inside this deserted old temple,
decaying with the ages.
I hide,
from myself.

Raindrops, falling indefinitely,
serenade
the cracked tile roof,
play me disjointed rhythms
as I find shelter from this gloaming hour.

Outside,
bare feet
dredge through the mud,
belonging to saffron colored robes and bald heads,
head back to Todaiji.

Outside,
street vendors
gather in the square,
hot peanut oil tingles
my nose,
crisp wontons tempt
a devout monk.

Outside,
a myriad of luminous stars
shimmer in constant harmony,
a small integral part of the larger whole.

Inside,
I find my loneliness is vain.