The city left behind
Sneaks up on me
When least expected
It seems the aroma
Of its evening mutton stall
With its heavy metal music
Can travel miles
This street could be the one back there
Where the temple chariot
Encased in a tin shield
Hibernates before the next festival,
When the god sets out for a wedding
He can never attend, year after year
Though the river rises to wet his feet - -
Then we have dreamt of floods
Turning the water salna brown
Filling the sand bed bank to bank
Keeping the residents off the causeways
Telling them not to lose hope - -
For the unseen will be seen again
And the earth give up its dead
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem