Dusty Ancestors

Along some dusty road,
my ancestors used to live.
See how the world has changed,
but the dust remains the same....

They kept records, I am told,
clerks or somethings,
desent of course....

They lived a quiet comfortable life,
tending books,nodding curtly ,
to the salaams of the illiterate bazaars.....

When on my journeys to Rajasthan,
I raise the forlorn dust, I wonder :
Did they tread these stones ??
Did their caravans jingle through that pass ??
Did the st at these ramparts ,
watching the dusk moisten the land ??
And when the saffron robes,
went crimson in battle ,
did they run and hide ??

As my car goes past these dusty people,
I search the faces.
Is this how one of them looked ??
The men never speak to me -
these men who travelled
the ancient highways
that led to me....

As my car goes past,
those dusty patient people,
I turn back and look through the grime.
Look how the world has changed,
but the dust remains the same.....