Posted by: Pucadyil | February 3, 2010


Perched on a little hill, the church stands aloof
impervious to the crowds on the road below
the two towers rise together as if in prayer
the grey walls bloom in the soft sunlight
we walk up the hill, my family in tow
the wooden door creaks as we push it open
in the flickering light of a hundred candles
shadows move like souls seeking redemption

People are scattered on the floor, lost in prayer
and some light candles, adding to the glow.
some sit huddled sharing a private grief
occasionally glancing at the statue by the wall
The madonna with the child gazes at me
asking me perhaps, where I have been
I have no answer except to mumble
not to construe the omission as denial.

Where have I seen this face, I ponder,
as I come out of the church and wander
reflecting on faith, love and redemption
and how myths become real in the passage of time.


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