Quest

Waves after waves
of pilgrims swarm
Into the holy fair
At Prayag, in the month of Magh
When the sun enters the Capricorn
To warm the confluence
Of the Ganga with Yamuna
The invisible Saraswati blessing
The mingling upsurging crowd
Shoulder to shoulder.
Unlocked tents
Pitched on vast sandy grounds
Freezing under them
In the chilling cold
Struck by poverty
Millions of them
Men, women and children,
Young and old
Sanctified by Love of God
Their faith tears off
The thick sheet of fog
That covers the confluence
They take their holy dip
Before the Sun dose.
The Fair, though holy
Is a carnival, as everywhere
But the devot pilgrims
Firm in faith on this ancient land
Detract nowhere
From their path of virtue
For it was here
Brahman had performed
The perfect yagna of divine wisdom
That still annoints
The gathered millions
For ages, with His joyful Bliss.
Yet for ages I've searched
Within the depths of the eyes tired,
Vacant and lost,
Of the millions of children of the soil
Still gleaming a faint glow of light
From the remote corner of their eye
For the Soul of India, But in vain.