The orgy at Narmada

Every time I go to
Chanod, where Narmada
flows in a sequential
orgy with the earth,
I remember my father
who lays underneath.
Going near its strong blue
tyranny of water,
I look at its
fluidic arms and legs
and wonder how exactly
I would look like
laying next to
my dad, whom I had
poured there as a bundle
of bones and ashes
some few years ago.
But now, looking around,
I only see moss, fish
and a few green pebbles,
all rolling, swaying and
dancing in an unknown
form of joy, celebrating
the unison of identities.
This then, brings me to
the matter of love,
which, if not today
but tomorrow,
will surely lay under
the flowing river of
Narmada, much far away
from you, where you
won't be even able to
come and look for my
bones and a few grains of
undetectable grains of ash,
mixed with all other souls that
lay there either in peace,
or in pieces,
depending on trying
to get close to you and
the secret of your glass house,
which forever remained
guarded by your own.
This again, prompts me to
say, whether under the
river or above it,
as Long as I am soaked in
your love, I will still be
the one,  sunk in a life long
orgy at the Narmada,
far away from you, and
always without you.