bayon (style 7: shape poetry)


faces peer
down from high
above, their wide
noses and full bodied
lips smile as they survey
their lands. 106 faces of a
king long dead, centuries past,
watch as we come and go, snap photos
and run our fingers along their eyes, and
place a stick of incense at the feet (all that is
left) of an old carved Buddha, deep in the dark
recesses of the temple chambers. apsaras dance
along the walls and many headed serpents slither
along the stairs, elephants clutch lotus blossoms in
their trunks, and monks glide through passageways
and down stone steps that lead from one complex to
the many others that dot this ancient and holy city,
tucked away in the grasping vines of the jungle until
one day discovered by the curious eyes of a frenchman
and now open and welcoming to all the curious eyes of
the world, to be appreciated and shared by you and I.


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