Filth, they call it ubiquitous; obnoxious.
On streets, in heaps, in lanes, scattered.
Life in Kasi goes usually on, oblivious
Of filth, or death, with ease. Unfettered
Feet, undaunted – of pilgrims, of people
Who walk with purpose, or aimlessly wander
The timeless lanes narrow, with space ample
For all who come, who live and die there.
Disgusting, the filth, reflected or not on faces.
Cow dung, house waste, refuse and grime,
Scattered, removed, then scattered, a repeat
Performance, seen and felt on skin, in nose, on feet.
Yet feet go on, undaunted, eternally, in time.
Life runs to death, from flesh to fire to ashes.