SIDDHARTHA

He became the rising sun,
And the meandering brook,
Died the death of a heron,
Flew the flight of a pelican,
Dismembered his flesh in the fish decay,
He became the seer and the prostitute,
A man and a woman,
A child in the mother's womb,
He is the smell,
He is the touch,
He is the sound,
He is the taste,
He is the sight,
He is the thought,
He is unity,
He is cosmos,
He is now.

Yet the one who thinks-
Kamala's lips are freshly cut figs,
Red, Ripe and Raw.
He is Siddhartha.