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
-Niharika Prasad
