A teeming mass
Rumbling through
A narrow chasm
Of visual and aural
Cacophony
Impossible to gauge
To comprehend
Without standing
In the midst
Feeling the flow
Feeling the insignificance
Of one more being
In this tumultuous rapids
Of being
Impossible to gauge
To comprehend
Without standing
In the midst
Feeling the flow
Feeling the insignificance
Of one more being
In this tumultuous rapids
Of being
Intricate details
Inlaid in stone walls
Indicate a beauty
And subtlety
Beckoning exploration
In a very important sense
The tanks are assets
The propane is product
Both have value
While the men transporting them
Represent labour
Labour is an expense
The material vs the abstract
While the bells clang
Insistently
In golden Varanasi
Where the priests
Celebrate Shiva
With a dance of fire
Saffron
Colour of purity
Symbol of abstinence
Purge the tainted
Cleansing ritual
Beautiful
Were it a morning mist
Or a shroud of fog
Pierced by morning sun
But smoke permeates the atmosphere
Even the train compartment
In which I ride
With every breath
Smoke
| Be Good Do Good |
Serve Love Give |
Purify Meditate Realise |
I struggle to see
The beauty here
In a world
Of grim and grime
Of damage and refuse
The hard task
On this spirit path
Find the beauty
In all things
But there is colour
Form and texture
Elements underlie design
And the dynamic
Of a captured moment
In an old man’s morning