In the heart of the ancient grove, where time is still,
Stands a temple, on a quiet hill.
Carved in stone, with stories old,
Of gods and legends, in whispers told.
The temple bells, with their gentle chime,
Echo through the ages, transcending time.
Their sound a call, to hearts sincere,
A melody of faith, drawing pilgrims near.
The air is thick with incense sweet,
A sacred scent, where earth and heaven meet.
Fragrant tendrils rise and curl,
A silent prayer, in every swirl.
Pilgrims tread with reverent feet,
Through the temple’s halls, in calm retreat.
Their hands in prayer, their eyes in peace,
Seeking solace, a spiritual release.
Candles flicker in the twilight dim,
Their flames a dance, to an ancient hymn.
The walls adorned with hues divine,
Where devotion’s light and shadows intertwine.
In the stillness, a murmur of chants,
The soft intonations, like sacred plants.
Roots deep in faith, leaves in the divine,
A connection to the eternal, pure and fine.
The temple stands, a guardian old,
Of countless souls, and stories untold.
In its bells, its incense, and its silent call,
Lies a serenity, that embraces all.
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Echoes of the Ganges
Poetry"Echoes of Ganga" is a poetic odyssey intertwining the timeless flow of the sacred river with the deep currents of human emotion. This collection captures the essence of the Ganga, its serene whispers harmonizing with the joys, sorrows, hopes, and f...
