Varanasi smells like…

Varanasi smells of jasmine.
And also of heavy air made of ash.
Grey ash that once was specks of Life,
and Life that, in turn, was the dust of stars.

I can’t distinguish one from the other.
As they don’t collide but glance.
While Life soaks its soul in Ganga Devi,
Death plays aat chasing it for one more dance.

My throat is rough and dry.
I shake off the scalse of so many past lives.
And I ruminate among branches of chopped trunks,
that once were also chants of distant suns.

— Random thoughts in Varanasi, October 2022