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POEM: Sacred River

Sitting on the ghat,

folded legs

&

spine straight.

Gazing at the flowing river,

&

thinking that sacred waters

must answer sacred questions.

But they recoil from the answer.

From being shown that they are the river–

a river which forgets that which happened,

while remembering events that never did.

They crave a gift of clarity.

But the only path to understanding

is a backwards plunge into an abyss

in a moment of sacrificial madness.


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