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| Image from google |
The flames in the Sanctum sparkled
yellow
Swaying on the laps of earthen
lamps...
Burning alive...spreading the
mellow...
Timeless and ageless..... as the
infinite
A routine watcher they are
Of incense, milk, sandal and
curds...
And the chanting of holy hymns...
Ho...! That bathed and adored the
main deity..
Privileged are they...for they
brighten,
The Lord's face- the dissipater of
divine grace,
To those thronging in despair...
To their abode of supreme
faith...
For every evocative ringing of
bells,
They offered themselves in
parts..yet remained complete
Lighting the camphors that burned
high...
The carrier of blessings, of the
Gods and the consorts...
Like the arms of help extended in
time....
The flames of the lamp lent their
light,
...the fire, the spirit within, as
benevolence
For all prayers murmured, deep in
the heart's chamber.
There...they rose, again from the
embers...,
When darkness filled the closed
sanctum,
Fighting the winds, not to be
smouldered...
For they desired not just to
survive....
............................................................
But to meditate, at the feet of
the divine...
Till the dawn painted purple...,
Carrying answers, to prayers
consumed...
... for every supplicant who returned!
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