Who are we but bright flames that wane?
Flesh alive and so here now, but can step away from these frames
Far away the evening fragrance lingers
Seeping into deeper woods
Feeling is like morning weather
With windchimes and little bells
Rolling misty haze, kissing our feets
Atop the marbled pathway
Of a holy treasure
He’s got long dreadlocks and blue-black patchy skin
He dances atop planets and creates cosmos with every turn
His dance is powerful and wild
He widens his eyes and sticks out his red tongue.
Shiva dances with passion amid the cosmos
He can erupt a volcano with the snap of a finger
He spreads the earth apart with a hand gesture
He can overflow a mountain and give water to the foothill villages with a twirl of his hair
The people of the forest scream and stomp their sticks to hail to the god of destruction
They paint their faces with mud and emulate a tiger’s growl.
The ancient Aryans ride into the South Asian subcontinent in their horse-pulling chariots. They bring agriculture, clothes, and script.
There’s a battle between the indigenous and the invaders. A thousand and thousand year conflict and war. The sun worshipers and the worshipers of earth. The dance of the drums and the burning spear of sharpened steel. The overtaking and development of land; the formation of rice paddies and the sinkholes that consume. The massacre of children and the killing of sages. Dagger to stone clubs. Gold, silver, and pearls over a bed of flowers.
The Aryan takeover.
A thousand year more, and a thousand things more taken. Names upheld, tasks given.
Sages take cannabis to go where there’s happiness. It meditates them out of this world into the universe.
Amid the cosmos, there’s a tribal face. Amid cosmos, Shiva stomps with power and grace.
The god of all beings. The lord of sacred things. Uninhibited, unbound, unrestraint, and free. Wild, with the mighty strength of a tiger constellation.
He hithers forward; the universe shaking with each agile step.
His skin; blue-black and patchy, and there’s a snake on his neck. He widens his eyes and opens his mouth; bright and red. There’s a roar and the world is dead.
The sage’s trance is broken and he opens his fearful eyes, breaking sweat.
Outside the window there’s a civilized world filled with concrete, heat wave, and the lonesome walking dead.
A Hindu god, an elephant head
Sacred symbols, from a thousand year ago
Clothed in time’s fine delicacies
Beige white silk and golden embroidery
Draped over her ivory beige smooth
Pretty face maiden, like my mom
A crown of flowers on her head
His admiration of me is far away
And I get to learn about
Big picture problems
In the inner circle
Places made of fine earth, tan and beige
Spinning earth, below the mountains and on the valley
There’s a brick wall and people who live in tiny rooms that I enjoy watching
But it gets turned into high rails for a speedy subway systems
That engines through brick gaps and bumps, and I wonder if it’ll throw me out into the ocean while it titters around
Hindu god with the head of an elephant
Ancient beliefs upheld so dear
I dreamt about a god…
Back in the time of Vishvamitra,
Making love under the sunlight
Your hand on my hand
And an orange flood of light
Warm hues in the sky, earth, and the seas
Yellow mellow scents; orange blossoms and a crowd of marigolds
A joining together type of feeling
A trusting zen-like breathing
Amid an ocean of glistening gems
His chest heaves up and down, slowly
Like the waves.
The waters are gentle and warm
And they tease his skin sometimes
Making him smile at their playfulness.
Vishnu sleeps, above a bundle of anxious nerves
He sleeps sheltered underneath the umbrella of a cobra head
There’s gentle sounds of bells lulling him from somewhere
There’s a shower of fragrant flowers soothing his senses from the heavens above
There’s a soft glow in the rays from the sun god to the side
There’s a water goddess who he dreams of.
Vishnu sleeps, floating amass a boundless universe
Vishnu sleeps, through creation
The rivers overflow, the waterfalls rush down, the mountains crumble,
The volcanoes erupt, the ground rips apart,
And the vegetation freezes.
The world thaws, the butterflies come back,
Children laugh and hold hands
And the elderly wave their goodbyes
Life goes on,
in disappearing circles.
His chest heaving up and down, slowly
Cushioned over a bundle of wrecked serpentine nerves
His face glowing
His lips, smiling
Vishnu sleeps consciously
amid an open warm ocean
Inside the heart.