A TROUBADOUR'S TALE

said a prayer
cried a river
held on to faith, and then bid it goodbye.

hurt few
angered many
disappointed myself.

mysore once meant home
bangalore, a rite of passage
pune, the glorious flight of fancy.

bombay gave me wings
london was the wager i won
delhi is distant.

new worlds tempted
old demons tugged harder
too early, too late, always in transit.

washed by the rain
dried in the sun
i must now see what stains remain.

once a soulmate
now a stranger
she is the self i was.

on with the rites then
the chariot broken, head propped up
the heart tempered to smile at those stains.