#varanasi
despite
the macabre march of corpses
straight into the raging funeral pyres,
it’s the icy waters of the Ganges
from your matted locks
which shiver my timbers
amidst
mellifluous incantations,
one thousand and eight lamps
floating on this mystical river
sparkle in an anemone glow
here,
a great sage
was taught a befitting lesson
in humility and spirituality
as i melt
hearing this soulful octet
in praise of this ancient city,
its most important inhabitant smiles......
truth be told
i’m in a Varanasi state of mind
© 2022
Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 9:23 AM UTC
starting now,
our parallel paths
meet next
not on wretched earth
but
at the end of time
in the ocean of milk
where
silly schedules or errands
need no heeding
this will be
another four billion years!
shedding tears of blood
i weave a garland of skulls
each skull
sadly yours...
as your sculpted body
bound by endless karma
makes its way
to the funeral pyres
before starting
another soulless existence
in the soul filled
“smashaans”
where all lives end,
is where mine begins.....
as i wait there
with a bowl in hand,
wearing only the sky
as my garment,
adorned with
a garland of skulls,
begging for nothing
except your soul
© 2020
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 2:11 PM UTC
Leaping & striding
comes a passing chaos
of ashen men,
adorned in chalks
of blue & grey,
glorious in cloth
of red & gold,
with a tiger-skin
glimpsed rippling
upon shoulders bare,
& as royalty
perched atop elephants,
beasts lumbering & bedecked,
ancient people
their mouths to shell & trumpet,
to announce
the moment
this late
afternoon.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
Myself caught in the heatwave sunlight, brown eyes
furrowed in the sun, scarf loose on my neck/
the transcendental Denpasar morning-birds
are playing their melodies in my head still,
three years post-Indonesia.
All of my soul to India now,
sky the pink of painted elephants
on Jaipur dawning,
my afterlife was somewhere here
perhaps two generations ago, chances are.
Vijay Raghav Rao and Alla Rakha
playing the Tabla/via earphones/treading the
Funary Box City (Kashi) future Spring
hands held together keeping calm pace.
Looking about, my twenty-two year old face
catches humid wind
S
I
L
V
E
R
S
H
O
P
tattered bike leaning on the gated guest house entrance
PERENNIAL AZURE SHIVA SITS CROSS LEGGED/
COBRA NECKLACE IMITIATONS ON THE GODDESS THROAT/
MEDITATING SHIVA/
dulled from years and corrosion.
Brahmin center of the market street
flapping it's tail,
sweat beads from my forehead bleeding
to oily pavement.
At last the months have come for the river Ganges,
April penumbra/savage thunderclap
while school children uplifting the heart
AND MIND
are ROARING in their laughter
the CONTINENTAL DISCORD OF JOY
sleeping with their eyes open
while others are too tired for the Earth.
Sidney Bechet floating swan songs during
the black hour cremations/
“Bechet Creole Blues”
CATERWAUL IN THAT VOID
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF DEATH/
LUNACY OF LIFE
(I've arrived at the simultaneous crossroads
of both)
searing flesh in open air pyramids/
Manikarnika Ghat,
Asia F
L
O
W
S
through dreams
like inevitable prophecy
and as ash blends with stars
the CITY seems fulfilled
and mystifying
in it's
(((((RESPLENDENCE)))))
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
all I see beyond the existence,
is truth as pure as Kāshi.
each and every breath,
chants name of Kāshi.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC