jungle swim

i'm slashing through the jungle,
blinded by sweat and the flies attracted to my stink,
spinning in fear of suspected tigers,
hoping to make them shy at the sight of my face,
the creepers are tripping me, grabbing me confusing me,
have i been along this path before?
the jungle grows faster than i can cut,
my face is sticky with spiderwebs,
and my claustrophobia screams for a clearing,
screams for an unobscured view of the sky.
but i'll tell you, strangely it feels more like swimming,
like dreaming,
my feet may be trapped in mud,
but i'm as light as the morning air.

thirsty apocalypse

i watched a dust storm on the far bank of the ganga,
i watched the horizon blur as the earth headed into the sky,
people stumbled on through the city,
masked like bandits,
a city full of desperadoes,
trying to save their eyes.

there was a tornado twisting across the kshipra,
full of grain and fertile soil,
it crossed along a footbridge
and died amongst the saints and temples,
where mosquitos made the river boil.

on a day full of sun, sun showy with his strength,
i laid in the dry bed of the betwa
using rocks to rest my head and giving in to violent heat,
feeling stones smooth from endless waters,
and i wondered where they'd went.

o stagnant sacred rivers,
banks dusty, thirsty, foetid,
will the next rain be enough?
is this one stage in your journey
or just a slow and dirty death?

o stagnant sacred rivers,
i saw light in the storm clouds today
and imagined michaelangelo's angry god,
thundering and threatening,
but threating what i was not sure,
will he bring floods for your salvation,
or will you die with cracking lips?
will you die with us sucking at your throats?
will it be a thirsty apocalypse?