Ode to India

This is a poem I wrote upon awaking from a dream after my last trip to India in 2000.

ODE TO INDIA

Road killed carcass of dog at first
bursting with the creamy rot of fresh decay
Then wide open, caved in, picked clean by crow and runaway piglet
feeding on this unexpected source of rare nutrition
The smell of human excrement
Pervasive through the pungent spice of
Cardamom and burning temple incense ganja weed bidi smoke
Fly encrusted flesh wound on
an otherwise skeletal stretch of skin
Over the smooth, nubby bone of thigh
pushing out at the knee and hip and pubis-
Revealed through tattered
filthy cloth the color of dust,
once magenta or azure or parrot green
Trimmed in gold.
Shrieking claxon of overloaded lorry
Pounding over broken pavement, rutted road
and smashed melon bleeding cracks
Barely missing the lumbering charcoal water buffalo
with long curled horns tipped in brilliant red.
A bright blue tassel smartly jiggling on his wrinkled forehead
Beautiful brown eyes shining through the
Long dusty lashes, clear mucous rolling from
the giant whiskered nostrils in tiny streams.
Bitter taste of diesel fumes and ginger garlic cumin
clouds of steam billowing through cracked and broken grass mat walls
Stained with the splash of mud mixed urine, discarded
tea, dishwater, bathwater, soot from fire pit
Deafening roar of rolling metal machine transport
Cut through by the shrieking horns, squealing brakes, and rubber tires
Forced around turns at high speeds occasional shout—jeldie jeldie lakie jao
Barely missing sudden death by crushing blow
Of impact with the endless flow of living creature
from lamb to goat to pig to cow to dog to chicken to
Tiny urchin child with shiny begging eye and
Outstretched mutilated limb—mehm sahib mehm sahib paisa?
Whispered, whined and bawled through parched throat
of scrawny little dust laden person
A person with heart, blood, spirit, feelings, flesh and
Human bond with mother. Always a mother somewhere
Somehow warm and tender milk sweet holding soft enfolding
Long black oiled hair scented with coconut or jasmine or cook pot steam
The froth of thick buffalo milk boiling in a battered pot
Tinted with the creamy brown of Darjeeling or bergamot tea.
Syrupy sweet with mounds of pure white sugar ladled generously in.
Floating cardamom pods, black speck of sticky seed
rich with succulent aroma. Chai, chai, chai wallah chai wallah chai.
Tiny newborn child swaddled in a crusted cloth
Shining new brown skin of toe and heel thrust through and into air
Dangling below the tiniest fragile perfect knee
Held close to withered breast, wrinkled face, broken, black stained teeth,
showing through red colored pan chewed smiling lips
Winking diamond eye of great grandmother—shriveled
small as an eight year old child—
wrapped elegantly in her cotton cloth sari dress
with petticoat tails of clashing color
above be-spangled silver chained bony ankles and cracked bare feet
The second toe of each encircled with a shining band of marriage metal.
All of this from rot to ruin to fresh and brilliant beautiful lush and colorful
All of the sights, sounds, smells, tastes the touch of India
Vibration of color and life and amazing inspiration in the
deepest poverty and despair, pain and dying desperate hell.
India calls me back relentless tugging at my soul
Awakening in me a fascination with the extremes of human condition
All displayed in full light every day exposed and open.