Places of Poetry: Angkor Wat

How do I write about Angkor Wat?

Sitting on the wobbling seat of a tuk tuk, I first saw Angkor Wat from a distance. Across the water, the building looked like all stone walls, but distinct in design. We got closer and my eyes didn't move from it.

Standing on the other side of a great moat, Angkor is tremendous. It's solid.  It's undeniable. It knows its splendor, It knows its history. It knows why I have come.

The approach to Angkor is slow. Crossing a bridge, your feet take you close, on step at a time. Angkor looms ever larger, growing in glory every inch of the way as more and more of the building is revealed.

Towering steps, defiant towers, ornate and blackened walls, Angkor invites you to walk through the mysterious past, to get lost, and to leave your mind behind in beauty created in ages lost.

I waked up to the first building--something of a long wall that some right up the side of the water. Through it, the area opens up to a long raised walkway, a road, an avenue of old. From there, you can see the next building, greater and grander than the last. It's a long way, maybe an entire kilometer. It's a long walk.

On either side is grass, the trees banished to the edges of the square of the old temple grounds. Here and there are other old building, just as black and ornate, only smaller in scale.

I, along with many others, walked the long walk up to this temple. I stood and stared outside of it how can something be so big? How can it be so old and still stand? How can it be so old and not have already crumbled?

Following the stream of people, I climbed the steps and entered.

The temple is many layered, going up and up and up. I walked through three or so of the sections, through halls lined with pillars, across open courtyards. In the dark, in the light.

As the sun set, its golden rose light came through the windows. Somewhere inside that grand area is an open space, filled with grass, in the middle of it another small building stands.

I climbed up the steep steps to find a temple raised high above the ground, old stones, cracked, lay upon the floor. And the setting sun filed it with rose light. A more beautiful spot I may never see again.