i don't agree all at once,
having to visit the spiritual corners of this earth,
for they make me see a hope—
one that's been long since buried,
one that i dropped like a crushed piece of paper
aside, a random evening.
and yet, every time i find myself surrounded by the presence of his,
the almighty, the gods that these people cherish,
i look at them, feeling withdrawn—
yet somehow, they call me back in.
(almost like a pied-piper, am i being hypnotised or beckoned forthwith?)
every time i wander,
find myself surrounded by his devotees—
multiple gods, yet just one single feeling:
devotion.
i'd add the adjective 'blind' before it,
but i wouldn't want to disrespect—despite all that i carry.
they cherish him,
surrender at his feet,
beg him for forgiveness,
plead to him for their wishes,
almost like carrying hopes resembling bells ridden with stars,
twinkling, resounding the beats of their (often rotten, mostly pained) hearts.
there's a mix, i know, in their crowd—it's a mix of all those who walk the ground,
except they're equal in here.
perhaps that's one of the powers he carries,
visibly hidden in the plain old sight.
i'm sure he'd be a lot too merry,
seeing them murmur the same chantings,
despite all the differences, they still harry.
my mundane self, surrounded by the divine—
here's what i saw with the same eyes that once shined:
i wonder if the steps of the temple know
who walks upon,
who waits for his own.
i could capture it through the camera,
but to write it down would make me feel seen.
so here it is, kind of like a monologue—
i'll pray upon him, so you won't hate me.
alive with color, motion, scent, and sound—
isn't that the four senses working around?
the man behind the sweets,
who knows which ones vanish first,
which are opted the most—
and the ones people go for.
those who buy—
i, wondering, watching my own family enter,
are they getting the sweets to offer to their gods?
should i too try to please him, to make him listen to me?
is it bargaining—being too cheap,
or is it silently offering him a price to make him believe in my honesty?
there's a child—i'm sure he doesn't even understand.
he spins, in circles,
creating illusions of dreams and stars in bundles,
not knowing why he's happy,
only that he is.
i miss when my innocence had me still.
a father—hair tugged gently by tiny fingers,
trying to steer him through the crowd.
of course, he knows better,
but he'll listen to his son
and his own memories of being carried around.
the same way—
a mother who lifts her child,
the one who carries the world within himself.
he's her world, yet to know his own disguise.
a priest, giving into the glowing screen
while sitting in front of the one he preaches day and night.
i'm sure that's considered minimal,
considering the world out there is built up
of more such people, giving into the illusions
of what the ones around are to offer.
i wonder if they realize the grave truth in its simplicity:
their bodies, which their souls inherit,
are also rented as temporary.
there's many more
that surround—children, aged, middle ones—all of them around.
to zoom out and narrate from their perspective—
i wonder if i seem to be fake?
i look at the feet of people,
showing ways they've walked,
ways they've lived,
and ways they've continued to trot
to find their peace in this world.
as they climb up the steps, in crowds,
holding hands and not missing anything out,
i see it in their eyes.
as they dream, almost child-like,
their hope symbolizes their life.
and to put it in the entirety towards one single entity—
the one who sits at the top,
is flowered, crowned, gifted upon.
i look at him in the eye,
and something about the moment makes me smile.
"alright," i whisper, as if i'm talking to a friend.
"i'll wish this once, once again."
and i ask for something simple, something that i've needed,
something i'm sure he'd understand and agree
and listen to with an intent:
"keep my hope alive,
to you, and to the life alongside.
and i'll return again and again,
be one of the ones surrounding.
i'll pray and hope to you again."
and that's how i leave—
calmer self, lighter chest,
a bit better than before,
maybe with a newly found hope.
i turn around one last time,
knowing i'll be back before long,
and i smile.
instead of waving, i touch the steps
that have carried thousands, including my own.
"i'm leaving for now, but i'll return—
right when i need to be with you, not just by myself."
this was all from the eyes of a hopeful ordinary.
i walk among you. i am one of you.
the lord does reside within me.
