I whisper his name among the weeds
krishna krishna krishna
He does not hear.
I wear in my hair jasmine strings
And intoxicating sweetness
krishna does not smell.
I show him sights familiar, familial
krishna smiles, but he doesn’t see.
I offer him nectar,
all the flavours of the world – a life
He doesn’t taste.
And then he stands before me
In the flesh, wearing only a question
And now I cannot touch.
My favorite anthology to Krishna.
Thank you so much. You made my day. 🙂
That’s so encouraging. Thank you.