Night @Colonial India

The midnight breeze evenly quenched by the Nation's heat,

Blood streams ease while flattening limbs were once squeezed,

Over the Ganges like Gabriel's wings, full moon gleaming

Soon faded, it's fallen Angels' curse, either, clouds veiling

Neither the brook nor these Angels unveil the moon's flip

The only dome stands and shines amidst the delta strip.

Pearl white gloss, as if a fluid Dove's feathers spread and swirled about.

A ruined Beauty, standstill ahead famines, flood and drought.

Greeco-roman pillars a dozen holds and glories the ancient Altar

Persian arcades over each, holy Ganges reflect paints, whiter...

Underneath, engraved many sacred Old Higazi, signifies the One.

As Keats sang on Grecian Relic, same, a fun song of John Donne.

Every art, nothing more than an illusion, shadow of shadows, evoked

May million times removed from reality, Art nowhere cloaked

I, a blind, never seen this, only sensed in the eyes of the past.

From A_Passage_To_(colonial)_India, in Utopia, that Shrine, ever lasts.