The Vagrants of Varanasi in the Bylanes of Benaras

The banks of the Ganga 

Where

Calm succeeds chaos

Faith overlooks filth

Duplexity is arrested by divinity

And sins sink in the Mother's lap. 

In the narrow lanes

Amongst the cows and buffaloes,

Between the garbage and the flowers,

You traverse

Lured by hand-pulled rikshaws, the smell of paan and kachori and the sound of the tolling bells;

You blend with the ash strewn bodies and amber colored foreheads. 

First, you merge 

And then, amidst the mysticism,

From the oldest city in the world,

you emerge, newer. 

अद्वैतम् |

This post is dedicated to a couple of friends who've been trying to keep my expression through words, alive. I've stumbled several times but I'm attempting to pick myself up. My writing slumber is in remission. 

Thank you, I am better for it.