Matrix

Every land has its aorta
India's is the Ganges,
where drink and dunk,
sweat, death and depth
agree on substance,
where evaporation envelopes.
where condensation rains season monsoon,
that not in any remembered Asian summer
forced surrender of frigidity upon the Everest,
frozen hung in palatial caverns,
off of cliffs, dangling daggers.

India is a matrix
India is a hub
blooming, birthing, turning wheel
dance in shadows
dance in bangles
till something else shall will it different
Beware of Her seduction
double jointed
whose eight arms entices pleasure,
and 40,000 fingers later
requires payment.