The River of Time, Part III

IMG_0786
Pilgrims on the Ganges in Varanasi watching the evening prayer ceremony on Dev Diwali

I must have seen this river before,

Running its course since ages long gone;

Its banks, I sense, have many times watched

My different shapes and thoughts turn to naught;

/

How strange it is to stand on its banks

With a new face and memory lost,

Starting afresh while feeling as odd

As an old man in a little boy’s clothes;

/

I’m blessed to have such short memory:

To recall all would burden the mind

Too much for it to still soar when hope

Shines

Just out of reach, like the day’s first light!

/

Yet, if I see this river again,

I pray I may remember my selves –

All of them: men, and women, and ghosts,

So I could cease to hope, and instead, know

 

 

 

The City of Fire

Kali 1

Take me home,

To my city of fire,

By the river that runs

To the sound of my breath

/

For my throne,

The red funeral pyre,

For too long

I have left empty;

/

And my children

Have grown into demons,

Spilling blood

At the altars of lies,

/

And my¬†house’s been

Infested with shadows,

And my gold crown

Has lost its wild shine;

/

Let me dance

In the heart of my city,

Where I’ll fight one more battle

With fear

/

And when at my feet

It falls, defeated,

I will once again

Roam free