Year in and year after
celebrations and festivals
come and go, enthusiasm
does not fade nor does
involvement at any level.
The silver chariot,
still holds attention.
Prayers go on for days,
food prepared in the temple
being consumed with delight.
There is nothing new.
The shrine, one of the oldest,
with a powerful deity noted
for the charm and smile
holds the spectators.
The devotees soak in the divinity
shave their heads, bring
pots and pots of milk
break huge coconuts, light
incense sticks and camphor.
The deity adorned in gold
decked with flowers
rides on the Chariot
amidst the cries
of Arohara!
The Lord returns to his abode
The ceremonies draw to a close.
It is adieu. Next year
would see an even more
gaiety and glamour.
Meenas Poems 