Benares

Each morning,
the Ganges comes to the 
doorsteps of Benares and washes herself of 
the sins her own sons have thrust upon her.
Here, in our land,

you can churn out any favour
from a woman,
you only need to call her mother,
Sweet sweet Ganges,
your nectar I am fond of,
red red Benares, your skin, a coat of prayers,
reminds me of my thousand years old self.

Those who could have
attained peace in life well lived,
foolishly throng to this city,
to die and gain salvation.