The tourists throng the temple, clicking away,
Ejaculating excited at exotic embraces,licking away
Its outer walls, designed to exhaust every body
Free of the corset - constraining the other
Cultures vultured by beard and brawn
The body a temple to be descecrated
Not venerated as an abode of the Spirit
The monk watches the fevered bodies, feverish minds
nature takes its course,the baboon laughs
watching the colorful human estrus
Devouring the other, creating another
Hunger that is death, the petit mort
without dharma, artha such kama leads not to moksha
Above the Two that are One in the Many
Until Self felt is the Beloved and Lover
the temple Within.
YOU ARE READING
𝓟oems 𝓟rismatic
Poetry''sketches that shape-shift the angle and the curve'' (line from the poem 'Contrast) Recent/new poems tend to be at the beginning of the book.
