NaPoWriMo Day 14...The Temples of Khajuraho

I am off prompt today, but this is a poem I've wanted to write for some time now. I visited the temples of Khajuraho three years ago and their hypnotic presence has stuck with me. The very place that those temples rest on is a sacred space, especially when the sun sets and the noise of traffic allow a sharper focus inward. Khajuraho is also the birth place of kama sutra, but these temples depict every aspect of life, their statues and honoring of the regular life of real human beings. The statues are a window into the lives of the people who built these monuments.


The Temples of Khajuraho

The temples float in a sea of noise; 

the buzz of mosquito, black fly, and locust; 

monkeys scrounge for mango scraps; 

tourists talk in every language on earth. 

The night blooming jasmine opens its trumpets 

and its smell wraps around the settling dust. 

The only thing releasing its grip is the heat 

bowing as if in respect of this place. 

We wind around the temples and 

look up to see sandstone statues; 

the farmer breaks ground with his oxen, 

a family shares their feast and drink, 

a woman half naked bathes herself, 

men heft their spears of battle, 

laborers toil in the sun’s heat, 

a man and a woman kiss and make love. 

Pleasure and pain, thirst and hunger, 

birth and death, feast and famine. 

This is what they chose for us to remember. 

Not the rich or the famous or piles of gold and jewels; 

they chose mortal bodies, rituals, and routines. 

The temples hum as if they still live, 

the wind pulses with their heart beats 

and I see these ancient people walk  

into the market and buy mangoes 

to feed their children, their bodies  

worn and ready to sleep 

and like us, they will wake with the sun 

and move into the early morning, 

look out their windows and watch 

people live the lives they are given.