India, My Love — Pathways of the Sacred

Is the moon held in early
summer evening's sky
The same moon, the very same moon
I viewed from the magic streets
of Simla?
Same moon that hung in
November's sky,
Seemed painted, colors vivid,
white, gray, tinted yellow
Was full, clear, terribly close.
The same moon five years removed,
Seen how many thousand miles away?

India, when I first saw you--
Swarming masses at Bombay's airport,
Farmers, workers, huts surrounding the
fields,
Misty-clouded monsoonal rains
Pouring, halting, hanging
In the air--
I was bathed in joy.
Filled with excitement,
I met your bustling masses,
Crowded customs, money-changing
hawkers,
Poor peons selling cokes
to earn five paise.
I was happy then--
The airport was drab, disgusting,
But my eyes saw only an
unknown beauty, mystery,
Of unknown strangers, endless
new sensations.

On the flight to Delhi I
saw from the skies
Your vast Gujarat, Maharashtra states.
The wind swirled the small craft
so badly
I thought I would die--
I accepted it in a moment,
My death sure to cause
my soul
To be reborn your native son
I remember the nights,
Nights of summer, nights of fall,
Night chilled to freezing,
Nights overheated to exasperation.
The journeys through the darkness to
Simla, to Bhopal, to Dehra Dun,
To my soul.

You do not treat your visitors
well, India.
You give them no luxury, no dearth
of endless red-tape, rules,
questions.
But I was fixated by you,
In love with you.
And, like a fascinated courter,
Tolerance was unneeded,
Each foolish quirk, each
strange incident
Only bound me to your
ever deepening spell.

The faces of your children
still come to me in the night,
call to me to return.
The simple joy of friendship,
generous affection,
Ease of companionship,
Rapture of hospitality--
The perfection of my country's
never learned art.
My dreams never tire of returning me
in search of
Five year staled friendships--
And the agony of separation
Grips at my heart,
Pulls me into melancholic states.

How I long to touch your soil,
Let the dust settle on my skin.
How, to see your mornings, twilights,
nights.
Long to be with friends,
Travel to unheard places,
Feel your breeze,
Caress your thighs,
Sleep at your bosom.

You are the magic lover,
Seduced, ingested, then spit me out
Only for my love to grow,
The separation engulf any
thought of happiness
Without your ground
beneath my feet.

Oh, India!
India, my love,
When shall I see you?
When shall I touch you once more?