Friday, May 11, 2012

The Wind from India

I heard the wind from India
   its cacophony of voices
   dialects and languages
   street cries and noise

I saw the wind from India
   its explosion of colors
   a rainbow streaming
   past and down my face

I smelled the wind from India
   saffron and incense
   blowing, radiating hot
   from glowing pots of iron and clay

I am washed by the wind from India
I am become the wind from India
I am the song of the wind from India

Photograph: Varanasi, the holy city on the Ganges, by Piotr Wojtkowski via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


JofIndia said...

Gloriously - and authentically - captured in the moment..

Martha Jane Orlando said...

Amazingly vibrant with imagery. Beautiful!

Louise Gallagher said...

This is lovely!

Anonymous said...

i am washed in the river
and laid on a stone to dry
in the wind of india

Maureen said...

I have a number of friends who have spent time in India, which remains for me a complex of opposing images such as I find as I read "behind the beautiful forevers" by Katherine Boo (it's a marvelous book). The voices, the sounds, the smells, the sights... yes, they are all so strong in India, as your poem conjures them.

S. Etole said...

I was expecting to see a photo from JofIndia ... powerful imagery in your well-placed words.