The Girl From Bogota. Poem by Vikram Jit

The heat, the parched dry earth, the melting road,
hissing, under the tyres of the speeding crowded bus,
opal eyes, aqualine nose, head covered, in silent mode,
more Indian than the Indians, she sat alone, in all the fuss,

Looking out from the window, at the distant hills, clouds,
she thinks of home, sound of thunder, whiff of rain,
holidays in Santa Marta, driving from Cali, Bogota crowds,
smell of her father, antics of brother, mothers pain.

Dressed in white, her auburn hair, now wind swept,
she gets up, as the bus stops, simple, quite, pride,
crush of bodies makes way, in the comotion a child slept,
dust rises, as the sky turns to a grey, black outside.

Her quest for knowledge, of mind, body, and soul.
her meditations on self, on perfection, becoming one,
with nature, like a child running after fire flys, her goal,
was the reason, she was in the land of the sweltring sun.

Happy go cloumbian lucky, but on rainy days a little sad,
longing for coffee, compadre, the colors of the hacienda,
her resolve on her beautifull face, was the choice she had,
she walks on, to the teacher, to the rain, the girl from Santa Fe de Bogota.............