BEHIND THE TEMPLE

A trail of clouds uncertain about rain

hangs around neck of  belief in pain.

Standing silent at the back of the temple we see

how wishes transpire from body of offerings ,

miles stretch out from the tongues of desire ;

in the stubborn bodies of ancient stones ,

and from fragile limbs of mire in mute prayer ;

doors of our temple are not open yet ;

with wait for fire from high spirits

dormant like layers of sands wet

they look heavenward for heights .

Are we ready for the front door?

It’s a terrible question that continues to haunt,

so often as we try to a false appearance flaunt

in our misplaced love’s wild, wild  hunt ,

for some peace that lies at the root of mind

but not at the edge of our faith grown so blunt .

@copy right: saroj k. padhi / 15.01.15