The Great Indian Fantasy: Why I cannot become the nightangle of India
Where do I find Nala and Damayant, fabled in serpentine sojourn:
Goddess of both evil and goodness lures that's naked truth's attire,
Finding kingdom of karmas and kairos in forest-King saving the snake man from fire;
Sequestered seat of affections to the God of pain, in salutation to the eternal peace,
Soul's prayer to the Buddha seated on a Lotus crease.
Am I the Suttee, whose life of lamp is the lips of death,
blows of wind in sudden breath?
My hands are empty, where do I find the Bangle Seller?
An Indian, In the Bazaars of Hyderabad, the snake charmer
Wandering Singers, wondering why, street cries in the nightfall in the City of Hyderabad,
Is that the song of a dream by the royal tomb of Golconda?
Singing autumn song for the Queen's Rival, Springs Palanquin Bearers of past and future
How do I become the Indian Dancers, dandle out a play of divine and demon's fight,
Is the Pardah Nashin, the veiled beauty of fire by the sunset sea;
Song of Radha, the milkmaid, fair, ivory, light,
Ramamuratham, theory of structure, the Coromandel Fishers' alabaster, an Indian love song, delights;
Indian Weavers birds, weaving nest In the forest of India, etched in ecstacy,
Why I cannot become the nightangle of India the Indian Fantasy.
-Lovita J R Morang
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem