It was an usual place of worship but quaintly strong,
in a quintessential town of my ancestral home;
A mosque not awfully grand but a modest one,
the same maker was revered in both the sanctum.
Frolicking within its calcimined walls, I felt proud,
resting under its whitewashed dome, did astound;
Other than peace, the courtyard had one more beauty,
stood out from neighbouring things dull and measly.
There was a silk-cotton tree markingly sprawled,
as pretty as a crimson patch on a soiled shawl;
Planted near a well in that courtyard, I firmly recall,
its coral shade fell upon devout before every fall.
Memoirs of silk-cotton blooms dangling low,
harks me back in time even now, can see its glow;
I still recall that ordinary place of prayer,
it was close to my heart, it was a house fairer.
Copyright © 2019 DrNikhat Bano All rights reserved
Photo credit: Google
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Some unusual images surrounding prayer and a place of worship; making of the mind even in religious context a kind of decorated poem.