In a Temple
p. 78 · Read in the full issue
By Shashikant Nair
The joss sticks aspiring curly fumes, I sit, my hands clasped amidst Gods dreaming.
Eternal silence and eternal peace reign, Amidst the sharp tinkling of a tiny bell The sound sinks and sinks deeper and deeper, Merges with the soul and the soul becomes A sound, and swings silently in rhythm, With the music of the tiny bell.
Gods look and smile into my face aglow, With the world forgotten, with Peace in my mind fully contented, I slay for an hour silently nowhere.
But then Slowly the joss sticks die and with Last puffs and scented fumes disappear, The tinkling bells ring a retreat And step by step the rhythms cease.
The music of the bell disengages the being.
When with a sigh of eternal satiation, I stand and leave the blessed temple.