Two crows died by the side of the road
and stayed there till they stank.
I brought them back and buried them in a wet grave.
I smelt another smell of death
but couldn't find it's source.
I can smell it inside here.
A man who'd smelt death at Varanasi
said how unnerving it got after a while.
Nervelessness, what helps the crossover at Varanasi.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem