Pilgrims and vagrants throng its Ghats
Beggars, seers and mendicants all,
Shrill peal of bells, the chant of hymns
And waters holy do enthrall.
Shiva's trident nudges the soul
The Dhamak Stupa stands forlorn,
Their speak of legends distant past
Of antiquity long bygone.
Come chant and sing a Vedic verse
Do prostrate at the altars high,
Know Moksha will then beckon you
From pyres lit where corpses lie.
Pray walk across its ancient lanes
Inhale the scent of wood and smoke,
Its din and dust will soon embrace
Your senses with its blessed cloak.
This mystic land its hallowed air
Bathes all men with its pious smear,
Here mortals come to breathe their last
For doors of heaven opens here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem