Who’s gonna throw my pitiful ashes into the holy mother Ganges? Who’s gonna hold it as their sacre… Who’s gonna know the need for this… I’ve seen so many nameless shadows

A sudden gust of bitter wind from somewhere hot and foul, whooped and howled throughout the scattered waste and scrabble down that God-forsaken alley.

A subtle movement, a facial expression, a particular posture, the constant hint of danger; as if he were here again,

My father has come to dinner; He does not knock. He is not welcome. He is dead. Yet he insists on joining me

These words are crude utensils, with which to touch you, and be touched;

Time wears away at me, like water on a stone, oh, so slowly, but inevitably, drop by drop,

I am awash with tears of mourning for what I thought was dead and go… as though a flood of holy water has broken through the stony dam I contrived to spare this brittle…

Almost silent, A numbing hum. It is a cold cloudless night. A brilliant bone-white moon hovers amidst stars upon stars upon stars…

Your end? My end? Where the hell’s the middle? You say this. I say that.

Alone, in the same old crowd, trying to ignore this stifling pain. I am but

Water ever seeks it’s perfect peace, from mountain heights to scattered oceans deep. So too our spirit follows

I come to the village well today, though without a need to drink. My worldly thirst now quenched, with home and hearth supplied. I am here to fill a deeper vessel