​Pointy cones.
Built for eternity.
With bricks and stones.
As a place for Buddhists.
For all their rites.
Temples for their puniness and pride.
Instead of following Buddha.
And making their lives fit.
His words and his actions.
By doing what he did.
Or it was an ice cream village,
an ice cream shop for mighty giants.
And between all these houses
were all these stony pointy ice cream cones
filled with human ice cream.


​Story #5: Like many other places Ayutthaya ​is full of buddhist temples. And every time I see monks following strict rules and people praying to Buddha, I think that they haven't understood the basic principles of what they follow, of Buddhism. The end of the poem is farfetched but doesn't it makes more sense than building kingdoms all over the world in the name of someone who left his kingdom to be free?
(12.​ December 2017, ​Ayutthaya, Thailand)