Tibet

On the world’s rooftop

Hidden by myth and cloud

Where all share as one

Both animal, bird and man

There is a balance upheld

In wonderful simplicity

That if you cannot aid

Then at least do no harm

That land is Tibet

How they must look down on us

With shaking heads

Before retreating from the precipice

Into the mists of eras past

Bored: Small Stories from a World gone Mad.


So, let me get this straight. You’re going to row the Atlantic.

Yes.

Then cycle across Europe.

Yes.

Trek through Northern Turkey, and then swim the Bosphorus to the South.

Yes.

Surf the sand dunes of Iraq and Iran.

Yes.

I don’t even know where to start with that! Then travel by foot through Pakistan and Northern India.

Yes.

Hike to Everest basecamp.

I’m thinking so.

Then climb to the summit and take a selfie from the highest most deadly place on Earth.

Exactly, who wouldn’t once you got there.

Indeed. And all because you’re bored.

Yes.

No other reason than that.

Well, one.

And?

You’ve made it sound so exciting.

Hmm!

Unheard

I hear the distant drumbeat

a thrumming vibration

calling me on,

and I wonder,

and I wait.

There are hills between me

and the music,

so much to cross

a life to traverse,

a steppe wasteland

cracked and ragged.

It matters not

for the call cannot be unheard.

It matters not

for I will not un-hear it.

The drumbeat draws me on.

I’ll see you there

if you hear it too.