In Hampi

In Hampi, I met the loneliest elephant.

Twenty- nine years old and the only one

On both sides of the river.

A rolled up note would buy you a blessing

From her. From Lakshmi.

 

In Hampi, I met the story of

A politician turned afeem farmer

And his love for his wife.

They never spoke out loud.

They never needed to.

 

In Hampi, I met a baba

A banker at one point

Meditating naked on the Himalayas

At another.

Policemen gifted him contraband weed.

He gifted them and the others

An ear. A shoulder.

 

In Hampi, I met a boatman.

He rowed so much,

he couldn’t sleep at night.

 

In Hampi, I met the story

Of a man who drank his lover’s blood

before they made love.

He never made love otherwise.

 

In Hampi, I met a woman

a caretaker of a public toilet.

We gushed about the healing powers

of aloe vera for your skin,

and then we gushed about weed

and how she smoked without her husband knowing.

 

In Hampi, I met me

as I traced centuries old camels

carved into stone.

As Nandi watched over me

from the boulders above.

As the river rushed over

gates of an ancient empire.

 

I found me.

I found magic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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