Footprints of a Ganja Smoker
How much farthercan I go
into myself?
Going deeper and deeper,
I have worked myself
into a drenched, breathless mess.
Meanwhile, a bowl of rice
has been waiting for me
for quite some time.
The grains of rice
are calling out to me:
Put your faith in us, bastard.
We are the ones
who will lead you
to the footprints
of a ganja smoker,
swimming
in the blood
of jasmine flowers.
Poetry by sinha murari
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Written on 2026-09-09 at 18:26
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