I drink it in
This perfection
This preternatural beauty
My spirit soars
My arms outstretched
Imagining, I’m a hawk in the wind
Each a mystery
Each a surprise
Some a shock
Some a delight
Light comes
Driving air
Down the valley
Clearing atmosphere
Of smoke and mist
Ohm, I sing
Into heart
Into center
Into spirit
Ganga, take me down
Down to distant sea
Where I become the drop
Which is, itself, the sea
And learn eternal peace
In oneness with the One
And then
On some glorious sunset evening
I see the world in silhouette
And understand how
We are all the same
Not for its familiarity
Nor for its comforts
Nor even its dull grey beauty
But for its being
An integral part
Of my being
In the early, decrepit morning
On the side of a busy, urban road
And no one cares to notice, but me
But that’s India: mad as a hatter
A million times a day
Absurd until it seems normal
To build the pyres
For funeral blaze
Lit from embers
Of Shiva’s fire
Burns every hour
Of every day
Four thousand years
And still today
And then it does
But only for a moment
Until something else
Pulls it away
In this visual cacophony
Of a culture traveler’s feast
Pix to Words 