Francis Osho Poet I do not know?

Dropping Annie

dropping annie at the church
has become a habit now
every early morning
while we drive
i just look at the magnificence
of the rising sun then she talks about
trials troubles and tribulations
women are made to talk, i notice
she is beautiful though
i like the splendour
of the church
the golden altar,chalice
the gold and red embroidery of
the cassock of the withering priest
with too much hair colour
beautiful perfect saints in glass cages
madonna ,innocent alter boys in red and white
jesus on cross and in meditation
in the garden
is life a cross, nailed suffering
vague vibrations of the imprisoned
spider,faint morning songs of the little birds
morning caress of the infant sun
glowing the painted glass window
where jesus is falling with the cross
for the third and final time
the sudden noise of the bell at the alter
wakes me out of an unfinished trans
then i kneel down may be disturbing others
the old ladies
i should say not so old ladies,turning
piercing eyes of annie stares
i close my eyes then like
like a cat and pretend
i was breaking the decorum of the church
continuously unaware lost in stupid dreams
then she relegates me to stay in the car for
a while before readmitting me for the grace
of the almighty god to repent for our sins taught
by them i like to stay in the car and observe
the subtle variations of the sun

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