Unscrewing the hydrant the leper licks up water
Or that hydrant perhaps, was choked.
Now midnight descends in a rush upon the city
One motorcar, coughing like a donkey passes
Shaking off restless petrol. Though ever vigilant,
As though someone has horribly fallen into water.
Three rickshaws running merge into the last gaslamp
In a pull as of wizard magic.
I too, fleeing Phear Lane – in haste
Walking many miles – beside the wall
Have stood myself in Bentinck Street – in Teritibazar,
In a breeze dry as groundnuts.
Glare of the drunken light kisses my cheek
Pong of kerosene, wood, lac, hessian, leather
Merging with drone of the dynamo
Keeps taut the bow-string.
Taut keeps the dead and living world
Taut keeps the string of life’s bow.
When, in distant times, Maitreyi has uttered spells,
Has conquered kingdoms immortal Atilla.
Ever in personal tune still from the window above
Half-awake the Jewish maiden sings.
Laughing, the realm of the forefathers thinks – what is song,
And what mines of gold, oil, paper ?
Some Phiringi young men smartly pass
Leaning against a column a lax Negro smiles
The briar pipe in his hand cleans
With confidence of an old gorilla.
Vast night of the city seems to him
The forest of Libya.
Still the animals are regulated – very proper –
In fact out of shyness they clothe themselves.
