Threads
When feelings are reasoned
the pain of no-feeling
soaks you
the pain
of no-feeling mocks you
and your organs burn
your cells melt
in that acid.
Ah must one burn
in one's own fire?
A question is best answered
by another question.
I have had the same dreams
for ten years
same images have haunted me
same fears oppressed.
Yogin sits at the balcony
trying to tell the passersby
she is lonely
through telepathy.
Did I hear her right?
I must examine the dregs of her tea
see her picture in a mirror
measure her shadow
read my mantra a million times
over her hair
yes she is full of desire
but soon she will tire.
A silent shriek shakes me up
I see the wraith of the village pig
I rush to the slaughter field
where the pig lies feet bound mouth muzzled
his screams rend the air
the four ape-men in loin-cloth do not hear
they are sharpening their knives
to make meat for their wives.
I fast this evening
but instead of communion with the pig's soul
I let my thoughts roam
till they stop by Anand's daughter
sixteen year old worshiper at my temple.
She is onyx to my touch
so I tell her of mysteries
of being and emptiness.
I have so much of desire
that desire itself is my fulfillment.
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