Village Temple

The old white temple 

Has stood as straight as a pillar

So many decades have embraced miracles and departed silently

History has added numerous pages of

Achievements and tortures,

Successes and devastations,

Defeats and triumphs,

But it has not witnessed any renovations

In its physical structure and beauty

Still Its architectural splendor and heritage

Evinces grandeur of our culture

And the exquisite engravings bewitch all

And prove the deft hands of old artists

And leave the beholders spellbound...

Its tranquil ambiance invites

The chirping of birds, the resonance of verses,

The ringing of bells and ample footfalls

One tiny view of the dazzling God

Instantly heals the mounted anguish

Since my childhood

I have been exploring here

Submission, devotion, homage,

Dedication to the supreme soul

But today I feel immense differences

As everything is artificial expositions

All come to impose their desires

And demonstrate as they believe God

Amidst all pretensions, deceptions

The temple is present as a mute spectator

Nevers demands beautification and colour

Nevers complains of repairing of wreckages

Though it is on the verge of dilapidation

It has been preaching religious thought,

Belief and attitude in its own way

And embracing all with the same 

Affection and acceptance

But has not invited any transformation

This is my old village temple...