DEMI-GHOSTS

I walk the shrine whilst beyond the rain canvasses the sky

feeling the cool slate beneath bare feet

adorned on the walls are gods and goddesses wrapped in gold leaf

statues of Ganesh, Kali, Parvati a-top garlands of marigold

the thick incense washes through cracks in the wall

this temple lays still and broken a stones throw from home

home where black hash is smoked in spirals of inspiration

where words scrape onto dull paper 

this temple, by the banyan tree, is home

where the nights characters pass at dusk

and bidis fill the lungs, 

and chai the hearts

and beggars seek coins in the swollen gutters

and butterflies speckle the leaves above

and the rattling trains carry workers to their loved ones

and diesel fumes become rare perfumes

and bus horns, symphonies

and the slow decaying buildings spread their wonderful nostalgia throughout the streets and squares of this hiding place

and curled in blankets under the banyan tree, we smoke cigarettes and talk of the end

the end that may not be witnesses by our eyes

suturing the night in it's delicate wound, we vanish

to realms unseen, and the open door of emptiness

our faces remain aligned between the constellations 

the threshold of your mouth becomes Jupiter's bow

stained in wine- spilled and deep

smiles drift past in ghostly layers, the eyes remain stark 

whilst bodies flitter in and out

between bells and chants