tucked in beneath the emerging heads of giants
Rishikesh stands, selling spiritual slugs of
contradictions, jostling metal gods and holy
cows in windy alleys nuzzling woolly tourists.
aquamarine, orange and Bermuda sunburn contrast,
as the sadhu’s share their mother’s juices around
‘Om’s that hum through peaceful mourns and are roughly caught
and stuffed on t-shirts by the afternoon.
breathless worry subsides as ashrams accept all
major credit cards to guard against the vices.
birth loans moon stones and buy camel bones for safety,
or take a chance and hide inside a German Bakery.
caked by Buddha’s defamed name, suggesting claims of
simple will amongst starched sugared slabs, dreadlocked
white men pay heed to swaying rules that
shawls are sacred tools to be drowned in.
only for effect the blind internal rhyme to
offset time with tie-die lines, disrupt the man’s neat Endings
Beat poems ricochet through Rishikesh like,
rattling clichés wearing baggy trousers.