Two rivers give their names
to one mighty stream.
They triangle a golden point
at their union
A helter-skelter of sootened brocks
is
reborn in a shimmering renaissance
of steel and glass!
High buildings point upwards
like
steel-fingers of a giant,
a giant, that has fallen
into
restless sleep.
Idle hands walk the streets
in
despair,
still searching for the golden crown
in the
dust!
Like the first George
I stand
on the mount alone
and look down on three rivers
with
iron bridges too numerous to count,
and wish –
I could
see with Indian eyes!
No comments:
Post a Comment