With a kamndala, a water jug
And with three ash-lines
And a red tikka
On the forehead
And clad in red clothes
and in a rudraksha rosasary
Around the neck
Hanging.
Mystical Noon,
Tantrical Noon
Clad in reds
Passing,
Passing,
Going,
Going by,
Crossing,
Crossing the river-bed
with skulls scattered over
The sands
And the pyres lying it extinguished
Where burnt it the bodies.
I did not ask about,
Just saw him passing
When we crossed the scanty water stream
Just with a splash,
Mystical Noon,
Tantrical Noon
Dressed in all reds
And looking supernatural.