Intuiting  is more than a matter of shedding clothes
Naked at the edge of the rock he forked the wild river         
bore the surge with the energy gushing in the veins                       
               Is it possible to leave the body
as he did his footwear at the path leading to the ghat      When throbbing
with neither life nor death the universe trims down
to a monotone           Leaning into the river he redacted
words: the language of life             song of existence               In the burning
touch of farewell              the tenderness of water
in the nonexistence of it
he disbanded
the colours        climbed the hill and wove his path to Mall road for a smoke.

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