1 <br />The river flows through the woods <br />grown in Banares in centuries <br />down this terrace they say <br />washes ills and hides sins <br />inher graceful ripples reflects <br />the depths of eternity they love <br />the myth like heaven and slavation <br />each morning my father repeats <br />the celestial history while his son <br />breaks off the golden bough <br />and acts rex nemorensis <br />without fighting the priest <br />and the polemic continues over politics <br /> <br />2 <br />Young girls and women move up and down <br />in the large boat standing on the Gange's bank <br />the sun smoulders the sand they carry over head <br />and fling down the basket that is their bread <br /> <br />they sit on the terrace and smoke hashish at noon <br />throw jokes on the privates or watch their sullen grace <br />poverty scythes their sweating skin, they fall <br />and the drowsy river flows with the city's garbage <br /> <br />3 <br />Silent flows the Ganges in Banares <br />the muddy water and mud accumulates on roads <br />each house harnesses the taints <br />no matter, how many sacrifices of blood <br />each temple shelters satan's friends <br />even after centuries the muck stinks <br />on both sides convenience of culture <br />cuddles the self-turned waves <br />speaking of our pride, my obsession <br />straight through the bones of the living <br />their crooked simplicity and polished innocence <br />treachery, vanity, ranting <br />always washed in the fast current? <br />or the rod of time is impotent? <br />like the river I see untiringly <br />it's unsleeping eyes looking upward<br /><br />R.K. Singh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/banaras/
