The Ash-Smeared God

From the lotus of silence, a third eye cracks open—
The sun turns to ash, the moon is a token.

I dance on the corpse of a dying creation,
Each step is a pulse, each breath a vibration.
The Ganges in dreadlocks, the serpent my chain,
I shatter the world just to build it again.

Rudra’s bow, trident’s glow,
Tritones howl, drummers slow—
Then the syncopation splits the sky,
As the bull-eyed watcher lifts his eye.

Shiva harati p;pm;nam
 Tryambaka; yaj;mahe
Sa;h;rakart; sra;;; ca
 Om Nama; ;iv;ya

Left hand holds the drum of time,
Right hand holds the fire,
Drummer stutters, cymbals climb,
Prayer becomes a pyre.

The demon of forgetting kneels,
Cut by my nail, my heel of steel.
I drink the poison, keep it blue,
What kills you, gods—I make it true.

Shiva harati p;pm;nam
 Tryambaka; yaj;mahe
Sa;h;rakart; sra;;; ca
 Om Nama; ;iv;ya

Ash on water…
The drum slows…
One seed remains.