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Let me tell you
LET ME TELL YOU
"Look!", an old aunt in a dirty alcove, once had said
her index finger, stout and crooked,
pointing to a three-legged silver cup
with streaks of silver dust
doing a lazy waltz, in ink blue water.
I looked , stuck my head out; then I was hit ,
amidst the cheap smells and dusty fumes ,with a
"Can you see?", out of her puckered lips .
To a feeble, little "What ?"from me , she barked
"It's God's magic words swimming ,
telling you what to do next?".
Gnawing of pits and beating of aching temple,
aggressive odours and heavy ignorance, masked alike
in spurious dis beliefs, and the ogre of an aunt of mine ;
were all there, etched in me,
and nothing else was there as mine ,
for a later trail, for me down the lane.
This I know ,and more I learnt .
To feel that Presence in every tide,
I looked here , I looked there
the more I tried , the more I failed.
Stopped I slow , looked I beyond my veil
I think, I saw a broken piece of life ,
Then, I saw again , a forlorn bit of life.
An orphan girl, a shattered widow ,
a limbless man , a war- struck boy.
All alike, hunched and doubled .
In domes and spires and palatial mansions
do dwell not the Benevolence .
On streets and slums , and hidden alleys
may we find His Abode in abundance.