Lament from Mount Meru

In shadow of Mount Meru
I lose myself,
all that colours me
washed out
as I remember him:

six months earlier
he stood in this same shadow,
sweat on brow from
tropical air,
fulfilling a wish
in the penultimate scene
of his life,

now examining this
ancient temple in the lush
Cambodian lands,
brilliance and mystery
mimicked in his own life;
or the happy
moments at least--

I break from the image
of him as I try to imagine
what he was thinking
as he stood before this
divine structure

knowing he had only
three months left,
inoperable pancreatic cancer
a deadly yeast quickly
expanding to vital organs,

but I cannot imagine it:
I am not dying too soon.
I am in the prime of
my life, living without
any concern for the Reaper
to whisper, "it's time."

I just stare at the
unfathomable beauty,
unable to pen an adequate
word for what I seen,

I just stare at the
unfathomable beauty
and think how much more
I have left to see.

In an instant, I realise,
maybe my thoughts are
not much different from
his, though motivations
are different:

we all live for great moments
and once we reach the
pinnacle, we wonder what
else is out there,
if there is anything more
beautiful, more wondrous,

there is no way not to look
at Angkor Wat and think
how much further toward
happiness can the soul ascend,

even for the dying,
chants of ages practically
ring out in heavy air.