India's Holy River Poem by elysabeth faslund

The Lotus blossom. Beauty. Power.
The Ganges. From immemorial
time, holy. The Gats. Fire of redemption.
India. Calling. Calling. Summoning.

From the Bengals' deep forests in the
North, to Orissa's precarious province
in the East, to Sri Lanka in the South,
and to the West...the setting sun...

At twilight, I buy one Lotus blossom.
Toss it on the Ganges' water, flowing
to a mystic salvation. For one soul.
For many are there, doing the same.

Why does my Lotus flounder, slowly,
so slowly, sink below the Ganges?
I followed the rituals...covered myself
in ashes, fasted, wore the gold-trimmed

blue Sari, bare feet, kneeled...oh Kali!
You, the female, as I...turned away.
Dark Siva, Shiva dancer, why did you
withold redemption?

One Lotus upon the holy waters...
One time...
Gone.