Flipping through the pages of an olde notebook from my time in Beijing, I came across these verses.
The Hall of Wisdom
And so I
sit, at long last,
weary
from climbing high walls
and
treading forbidden streets,
where
ancient sternness gives way
to vulgar
parades of hungry wonder
and whose
corridors, now
faded in
color and dusty in guise,
lead me
lonely and alone
into the
trappings of
thieves,
whose cut-throat
knives
gleam in the red flames
of want,
beneath the eaves of
the Hall
of Wisdom, doors barred
and
quiet, I am too early or too
late. But I wait. And I wait.
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