How One Can Cross Oneself Poem by SRIRANJI ARATISANKAR

And will not get entirely;
I cut part of the Ganges racer.
Cross-across from morning to evening...
In this way, the way he sometimes wandering traveler;
Mayabinil dark day in Kolkata.
The tree is the night of the senses;
Any side that spreads its roots!
Smog engagement of dust and leaves...
The sheets are then dew drop.
I do not know;
Some have seen in the morning under the tree
How many hundreds of thousands of people mark!
What blood, sweat or tears?


I do not cross.

You know?
How one can cross oneself?