In spite of these catastrophes,
holocausts and disasters;
the adverse calamities
and endless ever afters;
despite (or because) of these,
we shelter in one Temple,
spreading over seven seas,
we're God's own chosen people.
There was a man in the Temple street
who went round and round the street
everyday begging for alms
never did he offer prayers
to the temple Gods for he was an atheist !
It’s hard to accept the character
Which you aren’t meant to
It’s useless to accept mistakes
When you haven’t committed
Sometimes chunks of emotion
ruin your dignity and self esteem
It’s better to withstand it
Controlling overflow of it
Well, it’s Preety obvious
You know who you are
So it’s unworthy
Explaining your character
Those who knows you
Obviously won’t lay a finger on you
So, it’s better
Maintaining a gap with those peoples
I know sometimes
It’s hard to keep distance
between loved ones
but sometimes those solutions
Fix many misunderstandings and problems
every evening I cross an ancient temple
I pause in reverence for a moment
in prayer connecting
feeling the deity’s power potent
a warm sensation engulfs base of spine
it is the root chakra every time
a direct energy transfer
magnetism divine sublime
blessings that in-pour are imbibed
mind does not know what is going on
yet toroidal heart is vibrant
in the timeless continuum reborn
If my body is a temple,
Then my temple is a forest.
A place of worship built by God himself
With arches of thick tree canopies.
And steps to the throne, roots and brush and earth and dirt.
The choirs are the birds, the wind and patterings of prey.
Why isn’t the forest as good a temple as any?
Is my temple less to you
Because the machines have torn down my trees,
Or the blood in my soil upon which life is built
Disgusts you?
But these rampant canyons of trees and sweet smelling wildflowers
Are the offerings I can bring to the one who loves my soul.
And as He brings the sunset
I stretch my limbs to trickle light through the halls of this sanctuary.
It is not as formal
As you would have it.
But it pleases Him the same.
And though I have been torn down time and time,
He constantly grows new life, again and again.
This broken body, He raises up over and over.
Evergreen and eternal.
What could make a better temple than a forest?
The skies above are clear of human hate,
They don't know temples, churches, or mosque gate.
The birds that fly from branch to foreign land ,
Don't carry holy wars inside their hand.
They sing one song, a language of the wind,
Their faith is in the worms they hope to find.
No borders etched in prayer to keep them bound,
No dogma in the nesting spots they've found.
We split the earth with concepts of our soul,
Then turn on brothers, breaking every whole.
But if the sky had chosen sides to keep,
Its clouds would split, and even stars would weep.
If feathers had a colour , creed or name,
The air we breathe would surely burst to flame.
No gentle rain would nurture life from seed,
But drops of red to satisfy our greed.
A final, bloody from clouds above,
Proving our God is surely not just Love.1
In a twilight garden where the wisteria sways
The lycaenids whisper their loving praise
songs are sung and are being timed
When the temple bells are being chimed
Twosome toddler twirl and swirl in a lawn
Laughing and giggling like a gambolling fawn
No worries of the empty belly nor the pain
Of scratched knees and sees a mirth in a handful grain
The termless ocean hustles at faraway shore
And she called the dorado to hum like before
The brook talks about the stalk leaf that afloat
Lighter and gentler and looks more of pismire boat
In a gloaming garden where the sunlight blushes
All remain silent and only the sings of thrushes
Songs are sung and are being timed
When the temple bells are being chimed
She was an everyday type of girl,
but had a Shirley Temple kind of curl.
The last thing that I can recall
is her can of kerosine and her doll,
and now I'm burned to smithereens
by a girl not even in her teens.
I stand where gold remembers prayer,
where quiet climbs the edges of the sky.
The temple does not speak--
it listens… and so do I.
The day starts quietly here,
stone looks worn but steady.
I stand off to the side - away from the light,
and stand there longer than planned.
Nothing is hurried.
not the steps,
not the heart,
even time removes its shoes.
I stop.
I stand there.
A small smile comes,
nothing planned,
nothing for show.
written _12172025_BKK
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the mahurat bells rang
as spines cracked like temple doors—
pages breathing worlds
into the cutest silence
where past participles dreamt
When the world fell silent...
I heard the floor of my heart creak
Its doors opening to wind... and memory.
No stone held this frame
No pillar rose from ground holding...
Only breath…
And the faint hum, of what endures.
Here... in this temple
Incense is not burned, but lived.
Every kindness, every grief...
A bell that rings the air clear again.
And if I meet another traveler
Their eyes become my altar flame...
Their silence, a psalm.
So do I walk
Temple upon temple...
Footsteps, consecrating dust to light.
While watching the carvings of Konark Sun Temple.
.
It was a rare occasion,
I was revisiting the Surya temple (Konark Odisha) and its beautiful carvings on stone,
After a gape of many decades.
I found that the sweeping waves of time
had left nothing here without touching and mildly eroding.
.
The shine and luster which used to enchant,
every visitor here was slowly declining.
Even I too was not the same as I used to be.
Then I realized that nothing in this mortal world is forever and forever.
The only thing, which last is the beauty of our mind and soul,
which grow and grow more,
When we do good things for others and not everything for ourselves only,
But it is a very difficult practice and it comes only,
When we have love and kindness In our hears then jealousy and cunningness.
Ravindra K Kapoor
Raipur/ Kanpur India
17th Oct. 2025
NOTE : On the Photos I took on 02nd Oct. 2025 at Konark
My body is my temple
Sometimes forget to remove my dirty shoes
~ occasional cleanup in aisle 13
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
This is MY body. MY temple. MY fortress,
It doesn't come with permissions through the way that I dress.
You have zero rights to do what you please,
If I show some skin, it doesn't make me a tease.
You cannot grab my cookie and expect to be safe,
You should however prepare to be clocked in the face.
As a woman who's been silent for way too long,
Nows the time to stand up and its time to be strong.
When I dress my body its for my own pleasure,
Not for you to go forcefully digging for treasure.
When I dress provocatively it is NOT for your ease,
It certainly doesn't mean I belong on my knees.
I choose to dress in all sorts of ways,
Depending on what I'm needing those days.
To feel powerful, confident, sexy or comfortable,
Not for you to sit there and judge if I'm able.
Women keep rising because we are unbreakable,
We come back harder, stronger and less amenable.
You don't own me, my body, or my rights,
So stop trying to dominate the women who bring you life.
Comeback-Shirley, starting early,
I'm the sparkle that teases night.
Worship, the Madonna baby!
Comeback-Shirley
Foam hair curlers set loose coils tight.
Strawberry cheeks, fans wish to see.
Appearances, tilt the glass right.
Put your sugar bowl out, missy.
The world shall call you its sunlight.
Stolen cradle, aren't you in glee?
Comeback-Shirley
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