Stories

Today our temple way had a spastic
Girl that attempted to break in our space.
Her overwhelming limbs softly touched us.
An old widow in yellow fell prostrate
Before the marble fakir with head-cloth
That presided life from the tomb of death.

We are here to make new lives in this temp’le
For our children who have their fresh stories.
We make a scroll of their living together
Here duly witnessed by the monkey-God.

It is just that some stories are getting over
Some are in progress and new ones begin.