Kāśi… Kāśi… Kāśi…

Kāśi… Kāśi… Kāśi…
where flames dance on water,
and fire outlives flesh.

Built by Shiva,
for Viśālākṣī, the gentle Parvati,
guarded by timeless Bhairava,
watched over by the sixty-four Vinayakas,
whose presence echoes through ages unseen.

Here, Ganga embraces Varuna and Asi,
their mingling breath naming the city — Varanasi.
Here, divinity dissolves into dust,
and dust rises as devotion.

A confluence —
of gods and ghats,
of sacred bulls and wandering seekers,
of departed souls and discarded bodies,
of faith and fantasy,
of piety and plenitude,
of selfless surrender and sacred emotion,
of kindness to life and reverence to tradition.

Kasi —
where Shankar was shown that food is no illusion but god -Annam Brahma- by Mother Anna Poorna without distinction of caste, creed, or species
where Adi Shankara cast off his ego and found freedom,
where souls arrive to shed the shell of birth and form,
where siddhas linger,
their breath measuring centuries, not years.

Kasi —
land of flowers without fragrance,
cremation fires without stench,
where crows do not circle,
and bulls forget their rage.

Here, nothing is sin;
nothing profane.
Everything —
is divine.

A city where life burns to become light,
and death breathes like a hymn —
in Kasi,
the eternal city,
the whisper between time and transcendence.