This silver gong
with India’s map before her freedom.
Calcutta, you were there
Kali's city,
With her swords and skulls,
And death and change,
Beyond and through
Outside of time.
This silver gong
a birthday gift
I cherish it,
Too late,
I cherish you.
I picture you on tree-lined streets,
by white, domed mansions,
homes of Brahmins,
or in a rickshaw, down city alleys,
past Untouchables
by cardboard hovels with begging bowels.
Plaintive cries of Rupees, rupees!
Your India,
Land of contradictions,
Sacred cow, sacred Ganges,
Sacred temples, burning ghats,
Wafts of ashes, scent of incense
Stench of dung, smell of garbage
Sights and smells
Some sacred, some profane.
A lifetime later
I come to meditation
and honor my path
from the Ancient Himalayas.
Strike the gong
and close my eyes
And sit
with my own contradictions.
Some sacred, some profane.
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