September on Jessore Road

A cold wind blows over our tender ground, reaches up past the palm trees, the sea water rushing in, A wave of bursting life, stars shining down on us, The moon reflecting on the pond, the rest of the world bathed in darkness.

I remember the grassy hill, a moment of quiet, we gaze under the scattered trees, a sigh from the wings of life, —
September on Jessore Road

• Allen Ginsberg