Pakoras, Anyone?

I walk through the desert toward the mountain,
a pink sunset casts shadows
from behind.

I see the darkness on the stones ahead,
The ‘I am’ is the obstacle of the light, the
floater in my eyeball.

When I give up the I,
where does the shadow go?
Nowhere; into nothing.

The shattered fragments of my youth
orbit the brightness of my Being, casting
their long shadows on the otherwise bright

Take out the trash, and my
kitchen no longer smells of rotting chicken.
Pakoras, anyone?

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