Bijay Kant Dubey
A bhangedi, an Indian bhangedi,
Grinding the leaves and taking the roll
And smiling to his full
Without rhyme or reason
And his mind delving far, flying into the skies
With the stars,
Not on earth,
The eyes abnormally red
And he talking nonsense.
Everything but dulled to the core,
The brain not working
But he calling it Shiva's buti, a herbal thing.
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