A New-old Story (4)

The month of August,
The heavy-falling rain,
The green-mossy walls,
And flat temple roofs,
The wet slippery steps
Of stone on ghats
All that afternoon
His wide eyes devoured,
While ghat-ward he cut
Through strongly flowing river.
It was his first time
In Kasi, yet it wasn’t
New to him. For Kasi he’d seen
Before he’d ever seen,
Before he’d there been,
Before it had been
Displayed before his eyes.
The Kasi that he entered
Wasn’t the Kasi same
As all that he’d heard
And all that he’d seen.
They hadn’t exposed him
For all stimuli extreme
Of senses: eyes, ears, nose.

The monsoon nearly spent
And Ganga flood-risen,
He now was taken
With force to his own,
Very own, Hanuman Ghat.
Stone temple, statue of stone
Of monkey-god Hanuman.
It was there that all began,
The new-old story,
From a god of epics, the Monkey
Palindromically inverted to
A dog of epic new.
So, our dog-monkey
Then climbed to the pinnacle
And sat, tail wagging
And barking at sparrows,
At squirrels kept pouncing.


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