In the remote horizon, dips the sun crimson,
Comes the Venus, stars and the moon.
As dusk become the evening anon.
She washes her foot,
Feels sacred and fresh, changing her clothes,
The evening she prepares to greet and embrace.
Aroma twirls from her devotional niche, as devotional music fills,
Bell tingles, conch blows, lights a wick with ghee and devotion.
Veil on head, barefooted
Goes out holding two incense sticks,
Stands in front of a small temple and tree,
Lights the wick and venerates the Tulsi.
It glows with a halo as she mumbles chants,
The wick flickers as she takes a palm-full to face.
A whole world in the light, forgets she everything.
Worry, sorrow and the entire day for sometime.
Flickerthough small, soothes and solaces
A hectic mind to a deep trance and peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem