The temples

We shall  recall a second life in  vivid colors
Within pillars of time, with little girls’ hands
Stretching for eternity, in a rhythm of waking.
A dance went on in little girls, in body bends.

Their hands twisted the air as if it was a flower
As the leaves went deep green on a sunless sky
And temples stretched out in spires of figures
Of men and women frozen in color in the sky.


There were other gods in deep pits of dark time
Ladies in laughing annoyances, men in struggling
Farming lives, grains coming from earth-furrows,
Priests chanting words to gods listening in smoke
Kings hunting tigers, growling from stone gods
Appearing in night dreams of temples for people.


Others  from far come rushing with crow-bars
To dislodge stone gods from their stone corners
There can be no gods in others’ stones or ponds
Only gods of sand, over dunes and camel humps.

Temple stones turn dust, beliefs dust, people dust.
But there is thunder on crow-bars, voices booming.
For temples to be dust flesh hearts should be stone.
For, in the end both temples and hearts are dust.




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