the day after the night of visarjan:

flowerlike crackers and crackerlike flowers

are pressed into the tar of the road

like a candle into the cake of my walk

burning with light, bursting with sound.

if freedom, stevens, is a man who kills himself

each night, then religion is a murderer

who has freed himself from the necessity

of the night's darkness. in broad daylight

he spreads his calendar of violence

and the worst thing is: if i step on it

i only make it more firmly a part of the road.

~ ajay

18/9/2024