The Church Poem by Shikhandin Shikhandin

The Church

Every time I close my eyes
I see a bright white Church
stretched out against a bright blue sky.
It is a small Church. Not grand at all.
A simple one storied structure
with a Cross on its head.

Why do I keep seeing a Church in my head?
Especially when I do not have even a shred
of religion left in me? And, it is not even
a legitimate dream.

My vision is washed in a translucent light,
the kind of summer yellow
that stills air and stops birds in mid-flight.
And, beneath it, there is this rich, loamy earth,
full of life-giving promises. And, the scene
is so quiet and so still. But it is not serene. No.
Not at all.

The picture in my head is not serene at all.

(First published in The Nth Position, UK)