Appeased, turning around
in place, then round the lingam,
round the shrine, round the temple,
like a child’s top running down,
stumbles onto the square,
abandoning at the temple entrance
the worn-through sneakers
he carefully set aside
on entering. Steady, with a swagger,
he joins the downtown yogis
sporting tridents and beads
smiling regally for the tourist cameras.
Framed, yet diminished,
by the immense black stone Bhairab
standing tall behind them.
From his eyes judgment weighs.
Within the near
jailed, well out of sight
till they confess
or bear false witness