I’ll buy you a bunch of red roses

 

Kashi, city of light –

Great Ganga explodes with people

praying day and night.

 

Lunatic Linga cries as women pour

milk over the black, formless, form.

 

Ash lingers on the nostril.

 

River of skulls

float into the Dark Mother of eternity.

 

They say when they opened Kabir’s

coffin they found

a bunch of red roses.

 

The footsteps of God lead to the river.

Kabir is everywhere!

 

I am caught by the spiritual

overload of Shakti frenzy.

 

I hear a girl talk of Khajuraho

and tantric gymnastics.

 

People are bewitched

by this icon of light.

 

Madness a familiar smell

as I haunt the Ghats.

 

And the fire keeps burning.

It goes on, forever.

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