The temple priest has rung his bell.
A cloud of smoke from candles and lamps
Haloes the Goddess, glowing bright
This beat of drums both maddens and dulls.
The incense burns: so heady the musk,
Our senses flounder in the flood.
This endless chant of sacred words
Soon drugs our lips and stuns our minds.
The Goddess, always staring down:
Her painted pupils cut through smoke
And read the secret thoughts we think.
We somehow feel this within our hearts.
To Mother, we know, we bow and pray,
Her form not just this image of clay.
(Source: Durga Puja)
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