Lahore
A city that has grown too loud
With the reproach of streaming cars and billboards,
The slum behind the royal mosque
Remembered by promiscuity and lovers of irony,
Compensated by the fort left as a monument
Of noble endurance by Loh and mighty kings
In their limited humanities, along the river
That changed its course and ceased to flow.
Here no delight or outrage comes as a surprise,
Offends or pleases more than life elsewhere,
Yet leaves a mark of its peculiar effulgence.
Caught up between heritage, festivities,
Native mirth and capital tastelessness,
The defiant boles of aging trees woo the red-bricked walls
Of museums, cathedrals, colleges, courts,
The marketplace, magnificent gardens, and quieter bungalows
Like a monstrous might-have-been
Spells great music in night’s occasional silence,
And haunt the dusty air with possibilities,
Betraying pride’s chastened character
And patient love of a worthy home.
