The temple gates are
far, I cannot see
the goddess from where
I stand, only feel
this slight coolness in
the air; verdigris
on an old brass lamp;
the usual spiel.
The grass’s gone to
seed, different feathery
white or less than
white, flowers too unknown
and admit it, what’s
the temple really -
an idol raised in mud,
slight scratch on stone.
Rivers skirt their
banks in one sacred sweep,
skies, oceans swoop
and swell in kingfisher blues;
far too many lives sold
out far too cheap -
the goddess puts her
arms to a modern use.
Dreams still come in conch-white and marigold;
but I dream no dreams,
the centre does not hold.
It's the start of the festival season back home - happy Mahalaya, Navratri, and/or Durgapuja to you if you are celebrating.
Which is which
ReplyDeleteAround the world
Few are the same
Yet we see them
From our hearts and
know we’re wright
Yet still I ask all
Which is which
++++
Dreams lived in
realms only touched
But by our own hands
Sometimes it's tough figuring that out...
DeleteHi Nila - I love the verdigris on the old oil lamp ... can see the ancient monument which has seen so much of life ... lovely and then Desk49 does his amazing thing with poetry ... the husky dusky twilight slowly swallowing the day and things to be hidden ... cheers Hilary
ReplyDelete"husky dusky twilight slowly swallowing the day "wow! just love the poetry in there Hilary :)
DeleteThe temple is no more than a man-made place. Fortunately, God is greater than that.
ReplyDeleteNature is always a far greater temple than any made by Man and, for a true devotee, God is everywhere and in every thing..
DeleteI always love poems that reference the power of nature over human excesses. Like Ozymandias etc. So much emotion in your words as always Nila. I'm sharing a poem as my Part A for the WEP Halloween challenge. (Not my work). I hope you like it. :-)
ReplyDeletePoetry is always the first love :) looking forward to the WEP as always...
Delete