Bewildered City
Bridge frames bewildered city. Grey waters hold echoes of fading past, quiet…
Read more →On ghats, reeking of him, a soul craves his ash, morbidly seeking its own resurrection.
In the dead of the night,
lying on the ghats,
I smell of you and your sperms in me.
I am sick of your stench,
I wish you had died,
so I could wear your ash,
and feel alive.
Suddenly, echoes of a distant kirtan from somewhere —
too late in the night to forget,
too early to die.
I walk instead.