Postcard From Benares, India


BENARES 1 - Name


early morning
sun comes pale pink
rising out of dust horizon
long warm days before monsoon.

Stone and concrete reflect the day’s new light
gold temple tops cast
daytime stars onto this timeless river
people bathing, praying
Dugouts float past
barely moving
oars creak
temple bells toll
voices over water . . . hushed.

A trail of laundrymen beat shirts, and sheets and saris
against rocks worn smooth
so many lives ago
no one remembers
songs and whopping
echo down the holy river
Krishna! Whop! Om Shanti! Whop! Jai Rama! Whop!

Vultures soar patiently above us
without effort
gliding above blue fog mist
mingling with smoke from burning ghats
along the shore.
The end and the beginning.

    Burning Ghat

Published: Foreign & Far Away – 2013



About Bruce Louis Dodson

Bruce Louis Dodson is an American expat now living in Borlänge, Sweden with his wife, cat and dog. He is an artist and world traveler who writes fiction and poetry and practices photography in his less than copious free time. His work has appeared in: Barely South Review - Boundaries Issue, Blue Collar Review, Pulsar Poetry (UK), Foliate Oak, Breadline Press West Coast Anthology . The E-buffet, Qarrtsiluni, Struggle Magazine, Pearl Literary Magazine, Contemporary Literature Review: India, 3rd Wednesday, Sleeping Cat Books - Trip of a Lifetime Anthology, Northern Liberties Review, Authors Abroad - Foreign & and Far Away Anthology, The Path, Page & Spine, The Crucible, Sleeping Cat Books -Trips of a Lifetime, Vine Leaves, Pirene's Fountain,Tic Toc Anthology - Kind of a Hurricane Press, Cordite Poetry Review, Buffalo Almanac and mgv2.
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3 Responses to Postcard From Benares, India

  1. Amazing, Bruce, that you post this now – great minds think alike, lol – for my next poem is ‘Mother River’ about the Ganges and Varanasi.
    Here you’ve captured the texture and spirit admirably.

    • bldodson says:

      @ John,
      Ha! What fun!
      Varanasi is my favorite place in the world.
      I feel like I could sit on the ghats with a chillum and watch the word go by for a lifetime.
      I used to crash in the Cantonment area, Clark’s hotel the first day, then the rest of my stay at some slezy hotel across the street,
      can’t remember the name, maybe Hotel India – probably no longer there.

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