From the Hills

What Makes my Heart to Throb and Glow

North India version)

           ORION GOLIGHTLY B.C.S.  sings:

Skin may be scorching, and brain may be batter;
   Head may be swimming, and tongue may be white;
Liver uneasy—but what does it matter?
   The mail brings Her into the station tonight!

Sadly the heat from July to September
   Has soddened and shaken a fever-racked frame:
Complexions may change but She will remember
   That, even in India, the Heart is the same.

Scant time indeed have I had to be merry,
   Little of leave and less of delight,
Stewing all day in that frowsy Kutcherry; 
   What do I care?—She is coming tonight!

Tennis be hanged! I am off to the Station,
   'Tum-tum men tattu hamara  rukho!'
Ages it seems since in deep tribulation
   I watched Her departure, just five months ago.

Back from Olympus  to damp-laden, steamy
   Plains and her lover who longs for the sight,
My Darling returns; and Creation may see me
   The happiest man  in the Province tonight.

My bearer's a drunkard; my sais cribs the gram;  
   My one polo-pony's as lame as a post:
I know I shall mull my next Persian exam;
   My pay is a scanty five-fifty at most.

I'm only a Stunt-sahib employed in the 'Revenue';
   But yet I am dearer in Somebody's sight
Than all the big bosses at Simla She ever knew;
   And I'm off to the Station to meet Her tonight.

                   (Climbs into tum-tum and exit tumultuously.)

Choose another poem