An Abode to Grieve
The sweet atmosphere reeks of my temperament.
My thoughts-
resonating the sound of the bell so saccharine that it
shrills your spine.
I drown in the Revolution of threads- so many threads-
Red thread on top of red thread
on top of yellow on top of red
on top of yellow
Swirls,
Spins,
Suspends,
Fatigues.
I have rendered your resolve null,
while basking in your exhilaration-
with flavours of decadent confections,
thawing your taste buds.
I gush-
as the holy river slowly scorching down your throat-
as the whirring of prayer deafening the surrounding silence.
My disposition-
that unceasing rotation of rosary beads-
Ram over Krishna over-
Ram over Krishna
over Ram - then Krishna-Hare Ram-Hare Krishna
rings your neck.
Ingrained in my being rose the passion destined to swathe you into your eclipse.
Your light only a penumbra to the shadow of my darkness.
A Paradox will I be-
A gallery to commemorate - An abode to grieve?
While you voyage from one realm to the next
I only sail between the seas.
