The Brave Pedestrian

Somewhere someone is making love – Maybe bird maybe beast or man Somewhere a child is being conceived And I am that child. So I have a date to keep For that I’ll have to die, again. Somewhere a mother is heavy with child – Maybe beast maybe ape or woman She’s my mother, I’ll suckle at her breast And if I don’t go now, if I stay on here My mother will hold a stillborn child  To her breast and grieve and wail And so I have a date to keep So I must die, again. And elsewhere a child is born – Who some years hence will seek my love I must not keep my lover waiting Or she’ll pass her days in barren need. Oh yes I have a date to keep So I must die, again. And my lover and I must then conceive Our children waiting to be born My unborn children call to me The mother of my children calls to me They all will die so that we can meet And so my loved ones, I must go. My mother, lover, children, friends  In an unborn future form...

…was pressing the blunt heavy chopper to his throat unnecessarily hard, grinding it into adam’s apple. “Die, you filthy monk! You lying dirty bastard! You betrayed the trust with which I sent my wife to prostrate before you… swine! Now you die!” he was screaming into his ear. Guru Vaastava wished his disciples would learn to express even anger in a gentle whisper. A trickle of blood soaked the saffron cloth on his chest. His mind was numb from the sudden attack of this obedient disciple, Ramana, in the dead of night. Oh yes, he remembered Ramana’s wife… how could he not remember those perfectly-formed white thighs? How could he forget the look of surprised pleasure in her eyes? He remembered how he had bid her to lie on her back in the prayer room, in front of the black stone linga that she had so lovingly rubbed with sandalwood. Under the stony gaze of the hooded serpent, he had gently caressed her toes and feet as she lay whimpering in passion… caressed her calf-muscles with a c...