Every morning, what do you do?
Me: I woke up!
No, after a bath?
Oh! I water my chilies and Tulsi.
What? Continued.
I mean on the second floor!
Oh, there I recite the name I hate.
What? Wha-no...I do Aradhana to my god there.
With whom?
With my Pa. Cool.
How does it go?
As I put on my Joker mask...
It's a fun process... with a smile ~
...
Mind being truthful... *-*
...
Taking off my mask... '\/'
...
It's a long process... ∞
...
Silence for 30 seconds... *-*
...
It's an annoying process... Ugh...
Here's my take... > <
He walks in rhythmic peace, With cloth devoid of dust and combed hair. His expression is devoted, A tint of veneration on his stretched lips.He sits down on the main seat. I sit beside him with the book of mantras. He starts mixing a concoction for Pooja, Like a shamanic ritual, but it's devoid of sacrifice.
Prayer starts... With mantras in an audible voice!!
As I reach the end of the 4th line.
Slowly, the charade disappears, as a childish nature appears. He holds on to his mixing fork, Like a curious buffoon.
with a determined gaze.
First, he tries to mix it.....
Later, he tries hard to fix it.....
This cycle repeats, until his curiosity is appeased.
While I recite my mantra, seeing him play some tantra, I am always irked- His actions have me piqued. But why? That was the question today. Not ~ why it irks me again and again.
mum, I know it and it relieved it. Finding it, I found solace. Letting him do what he wants in that place, I close my eyes, listening to some birds, Imagining something ridiculous,
Waiting for all this charade to end.
YOU ARE READING
An Escape
PoetryAn Escape! Not the First! I know won't be the last. But this one was fruitful. Cover Image by Toa Heftiba https://unsplash.com/@heftiba
