How blessed it would be,
To be at the threshold of Kashi Vishwanath,
And watch the burning pyres absorbed in his aura,
The mortal residues never awaken in us - the mortality of innumerable lifetimes,
Even as the Chandala prods and pokes the last skein of the once-alive flesh
To release the prana from its entrapments -
The illusions lie in that ash ,
The bhasm smeared on Vishwanath
Adorns the one , who embraces vairagya
What would spell detachment
When Maya's mists lures us
Weaving a web of pleasure 'n' pain
Those threads warp me in sheaths - just like my layered body
Stifling my core, my being -
The urjha of the para brahman throbs in me as well -
To realize it takes the crossing of many thresholds of Kashi
To let my limited being annihilate once and for all
On these burning pyres,
In ultimate surrender without question, fear or regret.
The bells reverberate through the spires of Vishwanath
The river swells to carry that undying flame
Time and again the truth of Vaitharni tries to seep in
As the Chandala pokes and prods through the crackling fire
The offering to Kashi begins
at this threshold-
When I hold the pind daan from the Chandala, ready for the plunge!
