Miracle

We never thought a moment at road's corner
Would lead to  going here, to seeing God there
Driven around by a random man of some day.
Miracles are such  odd chances of one thing
Leading to other , looking at a smile in the far.

A three-wheeler rickshaw would sputter for us
With no hangers-on, of some young body parts
Flying in the air, zooming past dusty vehicles.
Our body-less souls would hang out in  throats,
Thirsty for God's love,a perennial beauty-quest .
Our egos would be in  old pockets, our hearts 
Safely behind them, sputtering with a rickshaw.
So much depends upon a sputter of rickshaw.

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