In Ancient Ayodhya

Reflections during Rama’s exile

In ancient Ayodhya

I pine for you daily.

Your departure has turned
a level earth on her side.

To you, oh Governor Lord
exile was no big deal.

You said: “the forest or the City,
I walk them each the same”

But I walk the cold, sunless
streets of this ancient archetype;
my memories of joy and laughter
drown now by street cats
screeching;
not in love-making (which has
become an unnatural act)
but in forlorn seclusion.

They sing in dissonant choir
with the baying dogs
and howling wolves

The moon herself turned black
and foreboding
with your tragic leaving.

The streets are piled high with
ears and eyes and noses
cast off by those who
have no faith in your return.

I can only barely recall
the sanity of your presence,
how exile made no difference to you:

“The forest or the city

I walk them all the same”

I gave up suicide long ago
after a hundred futile tries
though Lord, I never doubted
your return I only doubted
my strength and patience.

And now my friend and master,
you left us one single pair of
sandals; they sit on the throne
awaiting your discerning
judgment and generalship

And though fourteen years
is coming quickly,
yet it seems it will never arrive
or you were never here at all
and this was all a broken dream
to cheer a mad world.