To Baba Ji by Ashim Malhotra, New York, USA

To Baba Ji

by Ashim Malhotra, New York, USA

These bones I bring you.

These bones- neither old nor young, nor ivory or unique,

Just them and a touch of insanity.

I haven't anything else.

Were I a poet, my madness would be Bhakti, my shrine your words, my life your blessing,

I would move mountains, drink centuries, chide Tagore and sing bhajans,

Perfume the ground beneath your feet, with my blood and tie my desires to a stone and whistle as I watch them sinking into the deeps,

Beg, wheedle, wangle your love,

Play your kindness and ask for more.

Or better still, were I a mortician,

These worthless bones would make good soil for your garden,

And then I could live through roses in your Bhavan

And follow you on your terrace with my fragrance.

But I am not any of these.

Simple and perhaps unworthy,

All I bring to you today,

Are these, my bones

With a hint of my ancestors in them.

Smile upon them and

See how they a garden grow.

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