Look a little southward, facing the suns,
When northward blaze the morning burning pyres.
Ghats of Kasi, all a crescent that runs
Miles with majestic mirror-river that never tires.
Morning sun rays sparkling on waves dancing,
Colours all changing – theirs and of water.
Infant sun keeps growing in power, rising,
Shining with heat – burning stone and river.
Brown patched railings, rows of clothes just washed,
Spread drying endless on strings and steps of stone.
Rotten hulled boats, water-rot some more; sun-shrink,
Post-immersed idols dragged to shore, just returned.
Closer the river, stench of filth-fixed stink
Stays and grows its proportion and power till monsoon.