|
There’s a fustian eagerness
Of wet clothes and sandalwood,
A touching farewell
Of marigolds and chrysanthemums,
Wading the muddy waters of Mandakani.
In yellows, reds and blues,
Multitudes stand or collapse
In waist-deep water
Chanting shlokas
In liquefied fragrance.
Such a hubbub at Chitrakoot
Rousing an eternal liturgy
To the divine,
Marking tilak
For forgiveness and release. |
