The fire held in her hands
Burns hot and bright
But not so hot
Nor bright
As the fire in her heart
In her spirit
While those
Who participate in the rite
Focus on the ceremonial fire
To please the god, Shiva
I revel instead
In the fire and light
Of her being
Where resides the divine
The universal joy
Of a gentle wind
A small kite
And a length of string
In a child’s hand
Both the child’s
And my own
Mother Ganga
Cleanse my body
Of my daily toil
Mother Ganga
Cleanse my spirit
Of my transgressions
Mother Ganga
Accept my ashes
Carry me to nirvana
I long for this experience of love
Moments of profound beauty
Shared by souls intertwined
In a beauty all their own
Oh
To be that boy
Again
A little play
In every step
And every thought
Oh Lord
Universal father and mother
Burn away the illusions of existence
Three friends
Astride two wheels
Alive in a single moment
Dozens of eyes
Focussed on the game
One pair finds the lens
With a Mona Lisa smile
The only face
I can’t quite read
There is a peace here
In this mingling of muslims
And infidels
Inspired I suppose
In equal parts
By awe and reverence
Faith and the appreciation
For beauty
And while nothing at all
About this place
In the heart of Old Delhi
Reminds me of home
The tenor of this moment
The tranquility of it
Is mindful of a Sunday stroll
Along English Bay
On a fine summer’s eve
With fellow revelers
In the ambrosia
Of existence
The beauty of an architectural space
That is not improved by the presence of people
Is an expression of the architect’s ego
Rather than the purpose of their efforts
They mill about
Tourists, like myself
And not like myself
Clogging the frame
Until I realize
The shot is about them
As much as it is
About the mosque
Pix to Words 