The Shrine

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.

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