It is around a holy tree,
She revolved her belief,
It stands a sacred symbol,
Surrounded by four pillars of gold,
Small engravings of wisdom,
Being chanted out,
In a language long forgotten,
Surviving only as a dead whisper,
A whisper loud enough to wield power,
To keep her enslaved;
Surrounded by red and yellow flags,
The amber incense filling the senses with a fragrance that helps,
To create a trance that culminates into,
A numb ecstasy;
A trance of oaths, pledges,
Offerings and devotion;
Endless heads with her bowing down,
Millions of souls revolving around,
The tree oozing out divine faith,
Her faith, their faith;
Taken from within and given away,
Sold by the proxy Gods,
As sacred threads; that
Are tied back on the stems, on the branches
Where it stays and will stay
For her, for them,
The manifested faith, faith she searches for,
Faith she will always search for,
Till it is hers.
A few evenings ago the two of us, unknowningly, were writing the same thing, differently ofcourse, but similar also. And it turned out into a little story of faith and wonder. Here's the other thought.
Dheer Gambhir, Dharti putra
Khada akela
Devalaya ke prangan mein
Yugon yugon se
Maun sanwad mein
Pooch raha
dhyeya apna
Vayu-varun
Akash-arun se
Ya dhoondh raha tha
Antim-agni alingan mein
Tum
Shakti putri
Gatimay, chapal
Prashant, atal
Baandh gayin
Chahun aur mere
Aastha ki
dori kushal
Aur main
Ashaay peepal
Ban utha
Kalpvriksh sabal
