Mother India

by Christine Aitchison (USA)

India

Shares

My feet graze mile after mile, a bag of forlorn shadows carry me
My feet graze mile after mile, a bag of forlorn shadows carry me
Lifting the veil of turmoil off my shoulders, I knew I could never return
Lifting the veil of turmoil off my shoulders, I knew I could never return
Burning kernels steam down the dismal alley way
Barrels tumble, fraying fabric sway, arms tangle cinnamon string
Burning kernels steam down the dismal alley way Barrels tumble, fraying fabric sway, arms tangle cinnamon string
To bear witness a belonging, cements me in my tracks
Benevolence to the people, the seekers, the temple— thy beacon of eternal bliss
To bear witness a belonging, cements me in my tracks Benevolence to the people, the seekers, the temple— thy beacon of eternal bliss
A compass for my pilgramage, Mother India, I pay refuge
Unlocked a world unknown, yet more familiar to me than my own backyard
A compass for my pilgramage, Mother India, I pay refuge Unlocked a world unknown, yet more familiar to me than my own backyard