I have been here before but I did not find you,
I tried hard to see your soul within the stone
And believe that the incense, perfumes your nebulous form.
I have folded my hands and begged for your mercy,
Fearing more, worshipping less.
I have worn the holy colours, drank the holy water,
To seek blessings from thy Holiness.
But something is amiss.
Maybe I was naive then or maybe I am foolish now,
But as I bow down today in your shrine,
I can’t find you here.
Strange, but I felt you more in the wind ruffling my hair,
And the waves washing my feet.
I sat enchanted listening to the birds more often than the hymns,
And sought blessings beneath the banyan than bowing before Your memoir.
Believe me, I never ceased to have faith in your existence,
I have just made the world my shrine.
Quillosophy 