I wrote this poem in Manang, Nepal. Manang is the last town of notable size on the Annapurna Circuit Trek in Nepal before hiking over Thorong La Pass, which is 5400m above sea level. Manang is 3500m above seal level and is a popular acclimatization point during the trek. I spent 3 days here to enjoy the town and being so high in the mountains. After Manang, people typically have two more nights along the trek before crossing the pass. This is what I did.
Manang is such a lovely town, it was very small and seemed quite peaceful, surrounded by insanely gorgeous scenery. In this town, I made friends with a cow who liked to lick my friend and I, went on a really nice day hike, enjoyed some delicious food, and got in some much needed relaxation before starting the most strenuous stretch of the trek. I loved Manang and the rest of the Annapurna Circuit – special mention to another cool town along the way: Marpha, where I made friends with some nice kids. (Read about that experience here.)
I also had time in Manang to do some thinking and reflection.
What I found myself thinking about a lot was the uncertainty and impermanence of life and love. I am the queen of imagining myself into different lives, whether that’s places to live, jobs to have, or sometimes even relationships. Especially when I travel, I imagine what it would be like to live in those places.
But, of course, I also recognise that I don’t have enough time in my one life to actually live all these different lives I can imagine. I loved Manang but it wasn’t my home. That doesn’t mean I didn’t get so much out of the experience of being there. I think it can be the same with relationships. Even if you don’t stay with a person forever, it doesn’t mean you didn’t get a lot of positive things worth having out of the relationship. At the time of writing this poem, I was in a relationship where I wasn’t sure whether it would last. In the end it didn’t, but we still made a lot of great memories together after I wrote this poem.
So, here’s the poem.
Somewhere near the top of the world,
a village of colourful prayer
flags and yaks
wandering. Somewhere,
some 3000m lower,
you.
In the middle of this town,
there’s a long row of prayer wheels.
I don’t know exactly what it means
to spin them, but I know it feels
good, like a deep breath or meditating
in golden light.
Spinning them is an art,
clockwise, the way I stir
milk into tea while you drink
black coffee, pass cards around
a table of our loved ones.
The speed matters too I think,
and the consistency.
It feels good to slow down
my walking pace to spin
them. It feels good
to slow down.
On Tuesday, I go over
the pass, leaving this place
a difficult climb to 5400m behind,
and of course I could go back,
just like I could buy a plane ticket
straight into your arms.
But I won’t.
Manang has given me 3 days,
and in those 3 days,
I have imagined a lifetime
of simple pleasures and mountain views,
prayer flags and Dal Bhat,
community and home.
But this is not my lifetime
to live. So,
3 days is enough.
I don’t know how many days
you will give me, or I will give you.
Perhaps a lifetime
of grabbing each other’s hand
just to let go
so we can grab them again.
Maybe I will spend the rest of my life giving
you little kisses, writing silly songs
about your name, and cooking
you dinner every 4th or 5th night
(because you’ll cook for me the rest
of the time).
Maybe I’ll become part of your family,
learn how to sail, you’ll become
part of mine, get on the inside
of our inside jokes.
Perhaps one day we’ll make a new family
together, just me and you
and a couple of dogs we let be as wild
as we can, or a couple of kids to raise
around the world, running barefoot
on beaches and skiing through powder.
Maybe we’ll run an airbnb by the ocean,
have a few chickens, I’ll write
you love poems while watching you surf,
you’ll play me to sleep
with your guitar each night.
Maybe we’ll give each other this
lifetime and all it can become,
or maybe we will only give
each other one more month,
one more year, one more
“I love you” whispered
into the phone, or your ear,
or off the top of a mountain.
I don’t know,
but life is not meant to be
lived as a promise.
And my dear,
if all you have for me is one more
kiss, I will take it and thank you
for the collection of moments
you have given me as beads
to weave into a bracelet
I will wear for a lifetime.
This lifetime.
No matter where I live it
and who I kiss goodnight
on my very last night.
But if what you have for me
is forever, well then,
I’ll see you there.
I’d love to hear what you think!
Do you imagine all the different lifetimes you could possibly have? Especially when you travel? And what are your thoughts on the uncertainty and impermanence of life and love and how those things should affect how we live? I’d love to hear any thoughts you have on these topics in the comments below.
If you enjoyed this poem, here are more poems about travel moments
- A Travel Romance Poem: Love For a Moment is about similar themes, but more specifically about falling in love while travelling, knowing it won’t work out but doing it anyway.
- A Poem About a Once in a Lifetime Travel Moment is a poem about a magical moment in Laos that I didn’t get on camera, and how that affects the memory. There is actually a reference to this moment in Laos in the poem Love For a Moment as well.
- A Heartwarming Travel Poem About Guatemala is a poem about a travel moment in Flores Guatemala that gave me some insight about some of the cultural differences between Guatemala and North America.
- Silence is a poem about, well, silence and what it can represent. Not just silence in the literal sense, but silence as a feeling.
- Ocean Meditation explores all the things you can learn from the ocean and the feelings they bring up.
- Or check out more of my poetry here!
