The land of 

The holy Ganges

As she turns north, 

Towards spirituality.

Wriggling out of

The tresses of Shiva,

The abode of Shiva-Shakti,

The invincible Kaashi!

From Prajapathi to Pashupati,

From Sarnath to Parsvnath,

From the metaphysical 

To the Theosophical.

You are a conglomeration.

The land of mysticism , yoga 

And Sanskriti,

Of Sitar & Shehnai !

The land of political turfs, 

You have moved beyond 

Culture,

The Vedas & spirituality.

And just in between those 

Dirty, narrow lanes,

I find the face

Of Benaras breathe poignantly.

The widows of Benaras,

The destitutes,

Chanting Radha-Krishna,

incessantly.

They remember you the most, Krishna 

Even more than your favourite Gopi.

While I still search for you, 

Woven in the finest silk.

The peacock blues vibrant,

In those 5 yards of Benarasi !

Across the orange horizon,

When you receded into eternity.

I disappeared amongst those

Poor, abandoned women!

Chanting your name

Waiting for you, patiently,

In the forgotten bylanes 

Of your forsaken Kaashi!