The simple and the humble

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A Malabar monsoon,
for some cherai. 
Simply kidilan.

Lofty ideals
lost to the sun.
A heart of physics
and a language of yearning.
Where in the world
should metaphysics be running?

That which is enraptured
by sight and smell and sound
of character and appreciation,
that qualify for ethics,
made for some slush on me,
and reasoning.

And that is glee. That is wallowing in the mire.