"mystifying" poems - Hello Poetry

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)))))

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Jun 24, 2015

Jun 24, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC

connor-j

Self-Made Prophecies (Of Varanasi)

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)))))