Through the chiming of the bells,
The light of the ‘diya,’*
The blowing of the conch shells
And the chanting.
I hear a calling in
The muezzin’s ‘azaan,’#
The spires, steeples, domes
And calligraphed verses.
In the outstretched arms of the crucifix.
In the fluttering of the the prayer flags.
In the fragrance of the incense & and floral offerings.
In unexplained dreams seen only in the sleeping mind’s eye,
I sense an urge, a ‘bulava.’^
And I pay heed to the summons of the heart,
Walking towards, purposefully.
A devotee, a disciple.
Full of reverence and piety.
* diya = oil lamp lit in a clay pot at Hindu temples
# azaan = Muslim call to prayer
^ bulava = a calling