As we walked towards the temple we saw tinsel. A woman and a girl were walking slowly into a movie camera. Please sir,this way, says a clap boy.
Somebody near the monkey god says how old are you sir? Sixty six. And you sir? Monkey god smiles through his holy water as a camphor flame lights up his apple red monkey face, burnt by a sun fruit. We embrace flame to our eyes.
We are not old relative to our stories
All those that vanished only to return
Repeat cycles from never ending sky.