Saturday, 2 December 2017

Not In Stone,But In Life

Through the multitude and noise, I hurried up the stairs,
They say in one of the most pious of your claimed abodes.
Swiftly pushing a few, but without interrupting my prayers,
I watch the head priest, the blessed one, as the theory holds.

I almost stumble as I catch my breath, giant lamps glimmer far away,
I rush past pestering beggars,but stopping at a second thought.
Suddenly scared, at remembering what the elders say,
Blessed is he who donates at this holy place,as always I have been taught.

I watch in awe from the indefinite queue, I peep to catch a glimpse of you,
I sigh then continue my chants, repeating a complex hymn.
Words that I could barely pronounce,but ones they claim you well knew.
I pressed my face against golden bars,I was so short and the light so dim.

Hundreds of lamps fed on pure ghee, lighted up my way
Decorated plates with colored powders,all left me amazed.
The men in saffron took it all,piling it all, far from where you lay,
I strained my neck to where my mother pointed,to the God they all praised.

As i neared your shrine, my feet felt uneasily wet,
I saw some pour milk on you,which formed little streams on the muddy floor.
Hungry faces of the poor outside haunted me, I would never forget,
I clutched to a box of sweets, feeling guilty as never before.

I knew you'd tell me the truth, I leaned closer to have a look,
True to my imagination, I saw idols dressed in silk and jewels,
But your face so expression less,while a hefty man,offerings he took,
You did not even notice him,as louder and louder he rang the bells.

Your devotees seemed spellbound, few almost stamped me under their feet,
I called out for your help, but you still stared far ahead.
I dashed the other way, stopping only at the temple street,
Little beads of cold sweat, cooled down my spinning head.

Down the street I saw few kids,one glaring at my box of sweets,
He stared at me a little scared,his eyes met mine.
I stretched out my box, apologizing to gods on golden seats,
His eyes widened with a sparkle; could mortal be divine?

Not in stone,but in life
Not in chants,but in deed
I close my eyes, whenever I find myself in a strife
Image result for meditating
You,a part of indeed.

-Niharika Prasad