His face had
the Softness of the white marble composing the TajMahal
the Depth of the cobalt mountains cascading forever in the Nepalivalleys
the Eternity of the snaking trail of the Great Wall of China
theSerenity of an afternoon passed at the Pashupatinath Temple
the Authority ofthe waves riding the Yamuna River
the Smoothness of the silk sari hanging outto dry in Jaipur
the Confidence of the sapphire peak of Mount Everest standingalone against the sky
the Power of the ten hands possessed by Ma Durga in aRajasthani shrine
the Comfort of the gentle zephyr floating throughKashmir
the Wisdom of the vista of a minute civilization from the top of theHimalayan range
the Independence of the palm trees swaying in the breeze on aMadrasi beach
the Perfection of the flawless terrain bathing Utopia and
all the places he had never been and
all the places he had never knownand
all the places he would never go.
Because
His face had
theIndifference of the poachers scouring the Sundarban Rainforest
just as itturned away.