Dadu

My father’s father’s heart beats slow, the doctor’s heart beats slow

Against the enameled years of life a rose against the throe

With love the home is people filled, the concerned and fretful stand

So will my grandfather humor them and let them guide his doctor’s hand.

This changing face how strange is time that physician in our veins

Once youthful charged the spurt of life, now meandering grows arcane.

While on the winds the ‘raj hansh’ fly through clear and wanting skies

Kissing the Himalayan reddened moon like prayers too free to die.

And late in this setting Autumn month, instinct motionless through time

Awakes the reaching anserine song throbbing sleepless through the night.

I look at my body and think of you

The heart’s faltering and swelling beat,

the blood that flows its course into the brain
The skin that canvases the veins

This mark of life, the ease and strain of breath,

These organs packed and sheathed within the chest,

This holy body doomed to death.

Sweet Mother rider of the lion,

I bow to thee, I bow to thee, I bow to thee.

Dear grandfather, this month the geese fly,

Over the green fields of your childhood,

Over the celebrations of the Goddess Mother

Worshipped nakedly, resplendent and alive.

Fly on free birds, fly high,

You pale spirits of blue air,

You mystic reminders of continuity.