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

even
the beads of your sweat
warp
from the intense gravity
of those dense but sensuous orbs,
making a gentle detour
like a river,
before flowing into the whorl
of your beautifully chiseled navel

© 2022

from the vantage point
of the triangle of desire,
all i see are the delicate hands of Rodin,
which now have become your chiseled face.

as the world sleeps at night
i wet my pillow with tears.
tears from the joy
of knowing the intense ways
in which i love you,
deep within my subterranean mind.

love
knows no possession ....
yet i covet you,
all of you,
even the concept of you.

why did you come into my life
like a whirlwind
only to then vanish like a mirage?


© 2022