The night falls
like the ashes of the sky
weightless and fragile.
Bright child, sleep tight
in a dark pit, in a foxhole
abandoned by a warrior,
sanctified by tears and blood,
anointed with relics and dust,
blessed with the bone and skull—
the Aughad* carries,
and seldom returns
from the charnel ground.
The autumn is here to bring everything
that you need for four seasons,
the harvest of your sacred and not so sacred karma.
Let the wolves tell your story to the moon
and the lightning in the sky
reveal the mystery of life’s origin.
Let it all happen
when the night is somber
and the world is fast asleep.
It is going to rain on earth
for thousands of years
Aughad* (an Aghori saint), who lives in a Shamshana (a Hindu charnel ground), and often carries a skull and a bone for his spiritual practices.
For the Boy Who Lives in the Mountains
Covering the distance of a thousand miles
with her heart glued to the earth she marches.
Her soul, like an empty bowl, takes whatever is cooked with love,
and served under the shade of a sanctuary, that feels like home.
The autumn sky throws a blue Pashmina around her shoulders,
and the leaves from the trees fall silently, like the words of mystics,
pondering the purpose of life.
The day goes by without any sweet interruptions,
wondering about the boy who lives in the mountains.
He was supposed to harvest honey and flowers for the winter
and invite her for a tea and a kiss.
What happened to that boy who brought her red roses
and said to her, “They are only the wilted ones…”
She wants to kiss the sadness in his eyes.
Rocks and River
You cannot turn a river around.
It only moves forward.
It is getting dark in the trees, boy,
get down and go home.
The North Star has sunk in agony,
there is no one to take you home tonight.
Throw away the rocks you have in your hands.
Empty your pockets.
Smile to the sand in your eyes.
No one deserves stones. Not even you.