The Ganges

sordid and sacred, longing to be naked,

arms extended to a river whose

depths are not measured in fathoms

or feet.

but the meat on the outside and

the inside of hands clasped

together above the surface.

with pining hopes and despairs,

the amorphous yearnings of our bodies, minds and spirits

hurdle themselves from the ghats.

unimpacted by the coolness they descend,

dictated by the current and their

will to be still.

to lie prostrate on the bottom.

nestled behind the corpses and the ashe, the tears of their

fathers, sisters, brothers,

daughters mothers... humanity.

humanity.

cleansed and released from the

burden of repetition.