Lingam Logos

What’s Godhead—

now standing upright,

fecundity no less

I tell you more about.

Phases of the moon, you see:

an auspicious moment I’ve

come to believe in with

Shiva or some other deity.

What Greece from antiquity

bestowed upon us with an

outsider named Sikander—

Alexander the Great going

to the Indus Valley but not

ancient Rome, I presume to

know less about; then it’s

Parvati, consort of Shiva,

being on the diurnal stage

as I dwell on enlightenment—

fires burning and smoke

rising from the ground.

Sandalwood, the ghee of life

with avatars coming closer,

and I will recite mantras

when Shiva looks back at me

from the corner of his eye

as I pretend I am in some

other place like Rishikesh,

close to the Ganges, but

here by the Rideau River—

this North with celestial fires,

making promises to myself

from long ago.