Sapphire Night In Mumbai Poem by Bernard Henrie

The white ash of day burns down,
dusk seeps across the Arabian Sea,
Mumbai shuts down before my eyes.

The prawn fishers of Sassoon Dock
load furled nets aboard night trawlers.
Workshops empty, shutters clamp
and the curtained bazaars thin;
shaman and holy men retire,
their wobbly legs tug them forward
to mix with cooks and freight handlers;
the long bus lines and train cars
rattle home in the last cast of light,
blue exhaust trails back
like the sari scarf of a new bride.

Lights soft as women talking in a kitchen.
Milling students, stray animals, henna shops.
Dry wind in the lime trees of Kamala Hill.

I meet you, breathless with your friends,
western colors painted on your face,
sari swirled over your naked abdomen;
street warrens light up for night strollers
excited and swaying at the record stalls.

Half-lit nights made for lovers like us
who never touch, who stand with friends
sharing icy drinks in colored bottles, Mumbai
glazed before us an ebullient fire of stars,
a sapphire night aloft in burgeoning flight.