Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 15, 2019





Image may contain: outdoor and nature

A trail of clouds uncertain about rain
hangs around neck of belief in pain.

Standing silent at the back of the temple we see
how wishes transpire from body of offerings ,
miles stretch out from the tongues of desire ;
in the stubborn bodies of ancient stones ,
and from fragile limbs of mire in mute prayer ;

doors of our temple are not open yet ;
with wait for fire from high spirits
dormant like layers of sands wet
they look heavenward for heights .

Are we ready for the front door?

It’s a terrible question that continues to haunt,
so often as we try to a false appearance flaunt
in our misplaced love’s wild, wild hunt ,
for some peace that lies at the root of mind
but not at the edge of our faith grown so blunt .

Copy right: @ Saroj K. Padhi

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