'This is home'

The river Ganges floweth
from underneath my arms,
It’s tributaries form canals
 upon my sweaty palms....
As steady as the beating drum,
the holy sweat it flows,
Look closely as it glistens,
 upon my Arab nose...
The sun she bears upon us,
her fruit’s juices are sweet...
I pitter patter through this land,
 with cautious, sticky feet.
This is a place of poetry,
one feels it in one’s core
But the theme of sweat, did he neglect...
the selective Mr Tagore.
This mist has moved my spirit –
 I’m darker, fatter, bolder...
I hope one day I shall return
but by Jove, when it’s colder!