Holy Dip


Flooded Ganga, this monsoon.
With mortals, free of gloom.
Caste, colour, gender or race,
Seldom served the criteria in this place.


Fatigued Ganga stuffed with dead.
Its nectar is all red.
Ganga shivers at the crack of dawn.
Bulged bodies meet and moan.


Like lost lovers, they float across.
At last crows and dogs ease the bodies.
Restless bodies thank the vultures.
Dead breathe with relief. 

They tease the Ganga bed in red.
Ah! We are free from bonds of living dead.


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