By the quiet of the Ganges
Where it remains unpolluted
A poet sits under an old oak.
In his hands an ektara
His heart a shrine of love.
From that quiet corner
Of this big big world
He sings of peace and love.
His voice a call of calmness.
It reaches the sky
And rains everywhere.
The moon sinks
And nothing remains.
His eyes a galaxy of tears
Stretching his arms towards god
He falls into the longing of his art.
Upon reaching a crescendo
He let's go and silence returns.
The river hums carrying the dusk.
Leaves rustles and eyes close,
He prays for muses,
He calls for his own greatness
And humbly finds nothing.
His fingers play the ektara,
With eyes closed
He walks to the river's depth,
His heart remains untouched
Another step and his heartbeat-
The rhythm of the Ganges
He stands there and
The river flows on.
Written in November 2022, when I had been listening to a lot of TM Krishna and Ajab Shahar.
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| Ophelia by John Everett Millais |
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