Being human ...

When the Sun paints the sky with a gold hue,

and the dawn is born from darkness’s womb;

the morning stretches nudging the horizon,

and outside,  life begins to undo

all the deaths of  previous night,

somewhere, there, at a distance

 the temple bells echo rhythmically,

beckoning believers.

He opens his eyes, lazily, in no hurry

to scuttle out of bed, a bit belligerent as

his pre morning sloth is

bruised by the  initiation of life;

he observes the enticing curve

 on the bed linen, beside,

the left over of some half hearted love

still lingering on his lips.

In his mind’s eye he visualizes God,

The temple bells ring louder, calling;

he sees the serene,

somewhat sad eyes of HIM,

and moves closer, nestling, next to him.

Later, he will go to God

when he would be seeking happiness

and excuses from ailments and hurts

or ask for some quick remedies

and a short cut.

Oh the everyday demons and

the dignity of divinity! 






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