Poetry

india (ii)

My mouth must have been wide open, to smell those smells and see those sights,
even in that middle night darkness:
trash, strangers,
small groups cluttered on what passed for street corners,
one man passing honeysuckle back to another, and back again.

I was frightened and in awe and all of my
western life was trailing behind like one strap
dangling, flapping, cracking in the hazy night mist.

I began to see the city as it crumbled and collected and
piled upon itself.

I was in India,
suddenly alive again for the first time in months,
forgetting meadows and goodbyes and long,
open spaces and embracing the openness this
clutter must surely bring.

Kevin Crispin
What do you think is up to my right in the picture? A cob web? Probably a cob web. Or maybe it's my Beatles records on top of my air conditioner. It's certainly not fresh, new wainscoting.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *