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A dip in the holy Ganges is supposed to wash away sins. But whose sins, exactly, is this woman washing away?
I book a ticket to Allahabad Once Fraught with repentance, To a devout confluence. On the Holy Ghats of Haridwar Repentance, shrouds the crescent yellow moon, Invariably distraught with desires. I scrub, On the half immersed flight of stairs, I run down, to cleanse, Like million others who douse next to me. Their sins leaking like green leaves in a boiling pot. These rivers will spill someday, It is a labyrinth of untold crimes. Ripe with human desires, and, Repentance, Just like mine. All the elements we are made up of, Like tides, wash up on my feet. A torrential verse of impiousness, Replete with chants of unholy saints resound. I immerse myself in the murky water, I can’t see a thing, no more. If that is what it means to cleanse, to be blinded to sins, I am not a sinner anymore. A Godless city I seek him in, An impulsive dullard with a pen, Looking in daylights, for, The holy ghost of a living God. Come night, my plain verses, Succumb to lustful men, And thus, In double entendres, A flailing heart breaches divine assertions.
Published here earlier.
Image source: shutterstock
Hi everyone, I am a teacher by profession and a restless being at heart. I am a writer more of conviction, less of vocabulary. My restlessness along with my compulsive desire for learning anything new read more...
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If you want to get back to work after a break, here’s the ultimate guide to return to work programs in India from tech, finance or health sectors - for women just like you!
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