Too Early, too Late

At the temple that evening

I was early, too early.

 The flowers were still askew upon the tiled floor,

The lamps rested like soldiers, on their sides.

Walking around, I saw the old priest,

Lean legs exposed,

Crouching by the well,

Scrubbing a figure.

It was dull grey and big 

I saw him right it; a human shape

With a projection for nose, sockets for eyes and a dent for a mouth.

I hastened away and waited by the gate again.

The sanctum was closed.

He shoved it open 

With his towel-wrapped burden.

In time the bells pealed

The door swung open

A hundred lamps sent flickering rays

 Upon His ornate face.

Big lustrous eyes

Scarlet smiling mouth

A gleaming crown

Shimmering robe-

The works.

While the devotees swung in worship

And in praise;

I too closed my eyes... 

All I could see was that grey figure,

Stripped, wet, true.