Benaras

Far away misty streets
where East and West do meet.
Where lives are celebrated
and the dead are venerated.
Where saffron and denim
live and together breathe.
My mind still wanders
down a misty Varnasi street.
Where filth and pollution,
moral and fiscal corruption
fight for supremacy
in this holiest of cities.
Far away misty streets
pan stained and saffron lined.
A city growing steadily
a temple in slow decline.
Where lessons are learned
with bullets and bombs.
Where the color of your cloth
supersedes the color of blood.
Divided along lines
of politics, religion and caste.
With no room to grow
but all the time to become free.
My mind is still trapped
in this conundrum, this dilemma,
this divided and united city.
My mind still belongs on misty Kasi streets.

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