AFTER THE AZAAN

Yesterday afternoon, as the car

swept round the highway, the green sea,

shone mint-like at me, from the left window,

then the right, and then again the left,

till we had moved so far,

that only tar sailed till the horizon.

Of course the sea had been there,

There was no doubt about it,

But a momentary pause

had fallen fjord-like between sea

and tar, eating all the green.

It was when I saw all those windows

Of glass—parallel, opposite and even diagonal,

Arranged as if to gather some iota of fallen light,

Or some bold, whimsical aurora—

Framed in buildings lined

like the populace

edging a full blown parade,

That slowly the sea entered memory.

When I turned back, and saw the tongue of tar

distend from the rear of our car

How the voices of gulls and tramping flamingoes

burst sharp through the crazed static,

And my head swirled with that green!

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