A Priest In A Trance.

It is a trance

be it a chance

a priest in a dance

his eyes gleam red

he seems to be dead

then his eyelids close and shut

his words resemble a fret

the audience light the camphor

he wriggles his body in a  vigour

the sambrani burns into fumes

a pleasant odour looms

the spectators put forth their queries

he answers them in a reverie

they listen to him with utmost reverence

as he is equal to the almighty in a  reference

I sit there with a thought  all the while

suspicion gathers in me in a strange style

could this man have such  capacity?

not at all my mind warns me with a reliability

how could I make my friends understand?

they are neverthetranceless blind in their stand.










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