There is a country far away whose people

believe what they hear. There is in that faraway land,

a village beyond the farthest hill

where river narrows through deepening gorge,

a path down, brass jugs on the hips of the women

gleam… Listen, there’s a far country where women

gather by the well, and one, any one of them,

believe all that’s said, believes what she feels,

as if by that river, that hidden stream,

in the depths of the brass jug’s cool water,

in the moon’s refracted light, a potion, a spell

and promises, well-spoken for her alone –the new life,

with him, the work that will free her.

As morning’s clarion sky hurries the path down

and out, to the bus, the border crossing,

the long overnight journey, the drugged reverie

kicks in, for her, for her alone, for all the sisters

like her, waking in the ragged dawn, the truth

thrust upon them, in their cubicles,

their bird-like cages rarely catching the light,

in Bombay’s infested warrens


2 thoughts on “HIMALAYAN FABLE

  1. This poem is different from what you have been posting recently. It has a nice flow which mirrors the water in the river and in the jug. Your other recent poems seem a bit disjointed in rhythm, down in spirit, and while this one ends in despair, it is not the despair of the poet, but of the poet’s subject. I liked it.


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