prayer room

Your prayer room is cluttered, said my teenaged niece;

So I took her in and introduced her to these–

My household gods.

The two baby Krishnas- of brass and of bronze –

Belonged to my great grand-mom:

She’d had ten children and seen death snatch away six,

But remained ever patient and calm.

I’m sure my glass Siva is one of a kind;

(With Parvathi on his lap and Ganesh on hers)

My grandfather had it specially made

He was a connoisseur of music and art

Though his business was the clothing trade!

My mother-in-law’s Annapoorani, with ladle in hand,

Reminds me of her delectable fare–

Whoever dropped in , whenever they did,

Was fed with loving care.

The ivory Lakshmi , hands raised up to bless,

Rises from waves in the sea-

Calmly loving and serene- my mother’s last gift to me.

Of five noble metals is the Vishnu made-

He calls my polymath father to mind:

Scientist and Sanskrit scholar,

Erudite and refined.

In my niece’s face I saw the dawning glow

Of understanding-  of the love that flows

To knit families together.

And prayer unlocks these inherited latent powers

Makes our heritage the springboard to a future -that’s ours!













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