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Carol-Marie Klug

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Evergreen, CO, US

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Sunrise in Varanasi

by

Carol-Marie Klug

Outstretched hands with tin cups jangling from them,
rattling like a tympany off key
So out of tune with the rythym of the morning
that pulses to a beat it calls its own
The lepers line the way down to the river
Waiting for a parade that never comes.

At the break of this strange and eerie dawning
Yogi's sit entranced and postured like pretzels on the counter of a Deli, or stretch to salute the rising sun
whose reflection dances on the water
Mesmerising those who stand in awe.

And the memories of this morning can't be tempered or discarded, nor will they be contained or restrained by any box, stashed away with postcards or spent tickets
to be reviewed on a whim from time to time.

For the Ganges that flows through Varanasi
is not just a river, it's a life force
that penetrates your mind, makes you reach and retch
into its deepest canyon and brazenly drags you from a slumber, to awaken parts of you, you've never known.

Then without the courtesy of a warning
it will cast you once again upon a smouldering pyre
Where the stench of burning bodies scorch a nightmare
in your mind that even the sacred river can't appease
As it tears through your body like a fire-ball on a rampage
and you march back to the thronging banks
to the haunting jingle-jangle of the leper band.


My Mind Matters

by

Carol-Marie Klug

Soon I'll be a senior, get free coffee at Walm-mart on
Tuesdays and enjoy a $2.99 lunch at the Country Cafe.
Tip not included.

Free samples of Geritol and Depends will grace my mail box
without the anonymity and modesty of a plain brown envelope.

My body gives lip-service to this dubious, venerated state that will soon claim as a member of its sisterhood.

But my mind is my consolation, my salvation. It is a fledgling, tottering on the edge of its nest mustering its courage to spread its wings and fly on its posture-peadic
mattress to wherever it may go on its magical mystery tour.

My mind is an eagle. Soaring, swooping, aloof sometimes and very, very regal. Its aerie filled with jewels. Gems of wisdom, knowledge and experience that shine and glitter when I choose to flaunt them shamelessly.

My mind is a cavern, dark and deep and secret. It hides within its bowels a treasure chest for which I own the only map and hold the combination to the lock in a very private place.

My mind is a passport to worlds unvisited to new thoughts and ideas not yet intertwined or challenged by those whom I hold dear.

My mind is a visa to adventure from the couch, the porch or on my chaise lounge, recumbent, I can be a captain of the high seas.

My mind is a museum. It stores many precious archives. A curator of dreams and memoirs. But the collection is not complete. There are still masterpieces to acquire and I'm of a mind to go searching for some today.