By Afaaf Siddiqui
Oh you water of Ganges
From where do you come?
The hills where my lover resides
Or the valleys that echo his silent hum?
Does your bibble babble
carry his ideas of grace?
Does the sun above you
is as radiant as his face?
I long to see your beauty,
the scenery he often says,
And I envy you, for I despise
mine cannot be the same way.
His wrath akins yours
in a dark discrete way.
His smile is the serene mountain
that lie ashore your bay.
I long to see the hills
who resonate his whispering prayers
I long to be you,
beside whom he lets out his fears.
Oh I know how you differ at my lover’s land,
A land so divine.
For you were a rivulet of blood then,
And now a pious shrine.