India Poem by Michael Walker

Sky-clad, thrice-born capitals collapse,
As ashen ashram passions dam the Ganges,
While icons gaze from shadows of the apse
Upon our candle-lit clasped phalanges.

This has become a land of terrorists;
Mohammed threatens Buddha, Krishna, Christ.
Where once the temples welcomed tourists,
Empires of vice commence a final tryst.

We see the green trees of the Land of God!
Where waterfalls cascade towards golden coasts,
And sea kisses the sand where man ne'er trod,
Except for holy feet of heaven's hosts.

From snow-crowned peaks down to her teeming streets,
India weeps for saints asleep in sheets.