RIVERS
Should I multiply or divide my soul
in rivers under sheltering domes?
I have left bits of me
in the Elbe and the Rhine.
I have left liquid tears
in the lighted Seine.
Paris, Berlin, Dresden —
each city is an epic, a tome.
In rose gardens in the day
or beer-gardens at night
I have ranged and roamed.
The Torsa river danced for me
in the Himalayan Thimpu valley;
in Calcutta, the city of rallies
a vast Hooghly flows.
On the banks of Huron in Ann Arbor
I gathered acorns, and in Chicago
I blew a kiss to Lake Michigan.
My soul has mingled
with the essence
of each sheltering river;
I have lived with every one
like a lover at his home.
CHOICE
1
Two of my brothers
turned into ashes
2
One urn was immersed
in Haridwar,
the other in Calcutta
3
I have begged
Mother Ganga’s pardon
for choosing the
Arabian Sea for me instead
and guaranteeing
a Mumbai vacation
for mourners
with a lamplit sojourn
at Land’s End.
Note: Land’s End is the last point of Marine Drive, Mumbai
DALI AND THE COFFEE HOUSE*
1
At the west side of the
isle of the dead
a couple with their
heads full of clouds
played out the coffee house
scene in Madrid.
The waiter, a soft monster,
brought them fried egg
on the plate without the plate
and two pieces of bread.
2
He stood across the street
from the cathedral of thumbs
and drew a self-portrait
of the artist in studio,
listening to the invisible harp.
I think honey is sweeter
than blood, he conceded,
expressing the sentiment of love.
*The lines of the poem are taken from titles of paintings by Salvador Dali
