Meditation
Reciting Our Father
like a sugar-coated Vicar, I glide into
the silence of a cross, standing
before me, like a 95 year old
cactus, watching people walk-by
A wind breezes in,
and I dream I were this wind,
dancing freely with
the sand dunes of time
I can’t stop wondering
why inside this temple
has a repetitive silence, unlike
in the flea market where most
souls enjoy a colorful day
-
First published online and in-print
in Shabdaguchha, An International Poetry Journal
Issue 43/44: January - June, 2009: Volume 11 No 3/4
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