poem 26: putrid

i remembered sitting on the banks of the ganges

knowing it had been blessed by millions of people

and for a millenia

but was filled with putrid bacteria

the cesspool of our decay

we pray our hoplessness

our sicknesses away

but it collects in some other place

what if we stopped  creating trash

and illnesses in our minds?

mindless replays of regrets and worries

we fantasize in our heads

creating our own illness

until it has come true

if we can create it

we can heal it

feel it

forgive it

forgive me

for doing it

again

let’s try

something

different

this

time

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