Song of the RIVER
And in that sun's first suggestion the brass figurines glint, a pantheon of Hindu divinity, pyramids of vermilion radiant in reds. A thousand perfect men and a thousand beautiful women on the open road, desiring the river. The river that tempts, a longing, with a mind, reflects.
These yearnings why are they?
These thoughts in the darkness why are they?
Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
Deep narrow alleys, stains on the road, ruminating cows and people busy at their wares; hurrying spring horns, the pedal of cycle rickshaws, prattling, pushing as another day is born, the river a mute witness.
The earth never tires,
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first;
Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well enveloped,
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell
The ghats (riverfront steps), come demanding, the river with pilgrims chaotic, bathing, washing, the sacred rise to the resurrection, holy burning wicks dance on the river; the river tired with washed sins, profound, surging down the swaying locks of the aboriginal, the three-eyed god, alive now, full of life.
Forever alive, forever forward,
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go,
But I know that they go toward the best-toward something great
Along the river borne with the secret of the ages, the Bazaar, a maze, endless! I walk long, I walk long!
The road is before us!