Night by the Ganges

I am thinking of that hour by the mighty river when night insects spoke of you – fervently, as if you were their common beau. Smiling, I dipped my feet in the icy waters and felt goose flesh on my arms. I should have written a verse in your name that night. But I just watched the river flow. I couldn’t let the cadence of my love be marred by mundane expressions. The words belonged to the insects. To me, the silence of thoughts about you …