Closed eyes show what the eyes miss open:
Narrow lanes, stone steps, ghats, temples, river-
Not any river but the one Ganga chosen
As the opening chapter of my life near water.
Yes, those days; not yet lost to oblivion
Pushed down the bottomless pit of unconscious;
But those days kept alive for the vision
That lightless arises from the mind; held precious.
Wonderful, first time, sweet as love I remember,
They say when looked at, backward, once its lost.
Pain and joy both jointly arise and meld in one
As metals that alloy, so different, yet become then one.
Joy is the thing that’s bought with pain as cost,
Or, is it the pain for which all joy we squander?