Nostrils smell the air
Acrid, salty, ammoniac, thin.
A world resides in odour
Like fumes of camphor
A sunset in wet hour.
Inebriation they call it,
Coming from the realm of spirits,
Tipsy speech and gait
Courage volatile,
Blurred image
Like a receding mirage.
So be it, I don’t care
As long as I walk
This labyrinthine life
Watching the fun
Laughing out aloud
Singing my hymns.
And smelling all along
The tree, the dog, the alley cat,
Murky carpet wet,
Incense before my Gods,
As the clouds pour
Over the peaks
Torn asunder
By bolt and thunder.
Oh, life is a beautiful petal
Tossed by eternal winds
On an unending plain.
We take it transitory -
An everlasting pleasure
Where bodies fall
And then new ones are found
Providential replacements
In a drunkard’s endless dream.
