The chimneys at the other bank cough out muffled ire.
The dogged looking little boats seem to be on fire
In hope of lighting up the sky mimic starry quiver
Yet in languid meander swell the lazy river.

Of lovers in their sweet embrace, untouched by all vice
In corners within kisses deep, lust lives in disguise.
Vendors in their tattered best, invite in their voice
Vie to make a meal for night. A virgin makes her choice.


Curiosity peeps to see, if filth could find its path
To banks of sacred pilgrimage. A Brahmin takes his bath.
The silent tale of Ghats in play, the river sullen, quiet.
As sunset kisses whiskey-skies, pheasants take their flight.