On the great Tibetan br salt route they meet me again br br old forsaken friends... br br On their faces br fatigue of a drunken sleep br br their lives worn out, br their legs twisted, shaking br br from carrying br illustrious flags of bleeding ascents. br br Age long bells clinging br to them like festering wounds br br beating notes br of a slavery modernism brings: br br cartons of Iceberg, mineral water bottles, br solar heaters, Chinese tiles, tin cans, carom boards br br sacks of rice br and iodized salt from the plains of Nepal Terai. br br Butterflies of br the terraced fields know their names. br br Singing brooks tempests br of their breathless climbs. br br Traffic alert br and time-tested, they climb br br carrying br dreams of posh peacocks br br pamphlets br of a secret religious war br br filth br of an ecologist's sterile semen br br entire kitchen br for a cocktail party at the base camp br br defunct development br agenda of guilty donors br br the West's weird visions br lusting for an instant purge. br br Stone steps br of the mountains embossed br br on their drugged brains, br like lines of aborted love br br scratched br on the historic rocks of waterspouts. br br Starry skies br of the dozing valleys know br br the ache br of their secret sweat. br br Sunny days br along the crystal rivers br br taste br of their bleeding eyes. br br Greatest fiction br of the struggling lives lost, br br like real mules br clattering their hooves on the flagstones, br br in circling br the cruel grandeur br br of blood thirsty br mule paths around the glacial of Annapurnas.