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