The white linen covered his body,
As he made his way to the altar
His eyes gleaming the flame of destiny
Eyes lacking the senility of dreams
Eyes reflecting the purpose of life…
He made his way up the stone stairs.
Stairs, which bore the signatures
Of varying emotions, selfish intentions
Unconditional love, unfulfilled dreams
The dried sandalwood paste glittered in the light.
The fortuneteller with her broken lens
And her ringed parakeet predicted
Predictions…mere negotiations of souls
Wishing to satiate her soul and her hunger
Life was so subtle and illusory..
There were girls selling jasmines n lilies
Orange casurnias and yellow aranis.
There were old men who told tales
Of the mountains, of Sanyasa, of God,
Of the eternal truth, of the foolish dream
He made his way to the sacred pedestal
It was crowded, but strange as it was
The crowd carved out a path for him
Just like the hands of Bhairava of Anga
Carved out the nonchalant Rambha.
But three adamant people stood near him.
Their eyes closed, their hands tightly clasped
But it did not matter, nothing did now,
He was lost in another world, one of
Prayer, dreams, questions, answers and remorse.
The door opened and the priest descended,
But he was still living in that illusory land.
The three men stirred and extended their hands
And drank the holy water, the elixir of the gods
Water dripped down from their pale cheeks
They then started the long and the perpetual journey
They circled the pedestal with drowsy steps,
Hopes overflowing, soul offered, selfish dreams.
The hope of awakening, reawakening, the dream
Of another chance, another love, another receptacle…
They then gently caress the karpoora and place
Their hands on their temple, the fruit of their prayers,
Questions reduced to the volatility of smoke as it
Gently feathers and noodles into the serene temple air.
The feeling, the thoughts, clouded by the answers…it was time…
The crowd slowly dissolved into monotonous humming
And futile intuitions and the sound of slapping sandals..
A few remain, still lost in thought, answering the questions.
The sound of the bells and mantras resonated and reverberated
The karpoora still flamed, as the smoke dissolved, so did a lot.
The temple was empty, except for the flames from the lamps
The karpoora stopped burning, infinity swallowing the answers
In the corner of the altar, a rat carried a small piece of charred linen
The wind gently caressed the flames in the lamps; flickering feebly
In the night air, another flame gone with the eternal breath!
