In the absence of reliable ghosts

Birthplace with Buried Stones:

Through the portals of that larger chaos,

What we can scarcely conceive of in our minds—

We'd rather think of starry nights with biting flames

Trapped inside tree trunks, a wellspring of desire

Igniting men and gods,

A lava storm where butterflies dance—

Comes bloodletting at the borders,

Severed tongues, riots in the capital,

The unspeakable hurt of history:

So the river Ganga pours into the sea.

Meena Alexander.