Sunday, March 23, 2008


A ride down the river
Of what is left still;
The night is young,
The water restless-
It carries me-
Into the lanes
Crisscrossing my mind.
A window opens up-
I see the past;
The past of not today
But of yesterday,
Of the first step that treaded
On the soft muddy banks.
The first step of one man
That becomes a giant leap
For the Brits.
The distant sounds of music
Coming in snatches;
I go back even further-
The night plays a magical charm…
Angels in bright raiment,
Touching silently
The soul within;
It is ephemeral,
The touch… intoxicating
The night is still young,
I open my eyes
The lights glare back at me,
The old boatman gives a toothless smile
Says, “amra eshe gechi…”

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