Where are the Rivers Gone?
Ponder highest wisdom, clear and deep
The reverent eyes must see our coloured faces
Floating on sliver flowing in rhythm
The flashing water of life
Where my own people live
All my ancestors stay awake with its dark night.
I’ve know rivers going home
Ancient, hand holders
I bathed in the Euphrates when I was young
I heard the singing of the Nile
I took my love to the Ganges
I rushed to Beas when she declined my advances
Dulung lulled me to a painless sleep.
Gushing through ancient forests,
old temples and hard mud rocks
My path is drawn by the reckless wind
My fury turns wild, dejected
when I beat the rocks in the Subarnarekha;
another poem will mean nothing more.
I never shut amid the flow of the damp soul
lingering, drifting yet running with a broken heart.
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