“The Number of Water” by Sanya Osha, continued from previous page

Phenomena, consciousness are spat out

And engulfed by the misty

Stream of oblivion,

The heart also is discarded

And in its place a pillar appears

To withstand the world of fire

As he descended the byways of selfhood

He found corridors rotten in places

And bats were flying

Into the gradations of darkness

And with a spade

He started to throw out dried blood

And chunks of impure evil

So he could breathe in some pure light

And hold the chocolate-coloured lamp to his throat

Having been a quarry to solitude

He took one fierce look into the black hole

That moved like the very machine

Of the devil and he began

To pursue it diligently

Until aloneness began to run from him.

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