A meeting of two gods

He squashed a mosquito on his forehead
What a noble thing, to do
A nobler thing still, is to stand
Attentively when the ablutions
Are in full flow
Cramps in the feet

Through the haze and maze
He saw the other chap
Dancing and prancing
As he entered the sanctum sanctorum

He sat on his blue bottoms
He by his side
There were no more words
No prayers (thankfully)

Both trembled in the cold
Avatar eight greeted avatar seven
With a flute note
A bit of godly gossip

They assessed each other
Their soul full of questions
Their bodies made of cold stone
Reeking of yesterday's milk, champa flowers

The perfect man wanted to ask his blueness
About the Gopis in Vrindavana
About Radha (where is she, now?)
Instead sobriety prevailed
They confabulated
About divine statesmanship
Newer conquests

They sat next to each other
Sighing (and imagining)
Two different paradises
He fingered the peacock feather and said, 
I'm terrified by his perfection
I wish I was as valiant
That I fought my own battles

When the silence evaporated
They realised the night had passed by
He said goodbye, and asked him:
"What is your name?"

My name is Krishna," he said. "And yours?"
My name is Rama.”