REFLECTION ON A NAME

 On the 150^th anniversary of the birth of Rabindranath Tagore

I would like to have been named

Rabindranath, not necessarily in

anticipation that I would become

such an admirer of his poetry,

 (for who can know these things?)

but principally because the name rolls

like caramel in my mouth

with other deep flavours, and it has

the smell, if words have fragrance,

of the complicated spices

of a korma with basmati steaming

in a dish of beaten silver.

But yes, I would be proud to have his name

because the simplicity of his art,

the emancipating power of his prose,

the sensuous twist, the dark

spiritual and mystical rooms

and mysterious hallways

of his poems, seduce me.