Ritual Poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
Ritual
Every morning he goes to the church
though not religious, not really much
tidily dressed, looking so neat
the routine is a way, for him a habit
he prays for nothing, nothing he wants
it's all ritual, the prayers he chants
Years roll by, he grows frail and old
till he is laid in a coffin, dark and cold
the hearse carries him to the church he went
there is no prayer, he remains silent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/17/2024 10:14:32 PM # 1.0.0.1119
