Pieces Of Peace Poem by kaavyaa kriday

A call to the floor.
A mullah's azaan.
Both calling sufferers
to come soothe
their silent sorrow.

Boons of holy water
Inebriants by the quarter
Purging the patient
and the sins that
surround him.
The clamant concourse,
a sacred discourse,
induces the deity's trance.
A raving dance.

Burning baccy,
my sticks of incense,
baptize the air
and the souls
that breathe it.
The euphony chants
a holy intone,
casting a cone,
an envelope,
of equanimity.

A temple, a club,
similarities we snub,
and rush either away
to flee this agony
we call life.
One called the sound,
One called the sinner,
both seeking the same.
One through divinity,
one through delirium.
One through sanctity,
one through opium.

For serenity is not
always slow and silent.
It can also be
a violent allay.
A cycle of sounds,
maybe muteness,
or slaking noise,
rising from heartsease.
And I, the enlightened,
am swaying in peace.