Evening time – before prayers

I take a good look at the faces of my Gods

Familiar, ancient, novel faces

They remind me of my grandfather

Who I’ve never seen

Except in rusty picture frames

And oversize coats and belts

And the medals and certificates

That bear his name and a faintish smell

That could well be his

 

I gaze intently at my Gods’ faces

And I see him there

He who loved his Gods well

And served them with his hands and heart

In every season – in every way at his disposal

At home and out on the streets

In the morning, at mid-day

Evening time – before the bell

Before the incense and the light

Before the murmuring of hymns and holy words

Before the blare of the white conch

Filled with the warm wind of my lungs

I survey the faces of Gods

Ancient but wondrous new faces

I see my faith renewed in them

And in them I see his muddy hands

I see the flooded field

I see the swelling river

I see a fire and the capped hills

I see the humid air

I see the boatman’s distant strains

I see his bright face, Their proud faces glowing

In a blaze that hasn’t been put out 

No, not yet