"Varanasi is older than History, Older than tradition, older even than legend"- Mark Twain
Poets and Writers are grandiloquent, aren't they? Actually they consider it their birth-right, got from womb. But this fact also can not be ruled out that World becomes hector of eyes if flowery and pompous words are not used.
Well, I went to other direction. Leave it.
Amidst all this violece of world, there is a city of bliss and mirth- the city of Kashi, Varanasi or Benaras.
Here is the first part of my poem-
Smiling at history,
Smiling at dwarf tides of time,
Sits in meditation Kashi Nagri,
Silently flows the Ganges sublime.
Beauty of elderly is wrinkled,
As beauty of Kashi is Temple-d,
And twenty three times one thousand-
The number of temples is counted.
Telling tales to tales and lores to lores,
Customs to customs and mores to mores:
The ghats of ancient rocks and stones-
Guides of mortal beings of bones.
Love💓💓
Har Har Mahadev💓💓!
YOU ARE READING
IMMORTAL IMMIGRANTS
PoesíaThese words have escaped the city of my heart and are refugees here with their tents on the pages of this book beseeching nationalities of your hearts. Give them the nationalities of your heart.
