I will sit in a chapel with stillness looming
large
And take in the aroma
of scented candles melting
Made by women of some
foreign lands
And listen to the
Hebrew chant of psalms
Soft as coils of
silken thread
With its notes rising
and falling in ancient tunes
Until my feet start
singing perfectly in sync
Narrate to me and
I’ll listen to your ancestral links
Of caravans in
deserts blown away
Leaving behind the
perfectly embroidered fabric
And tiny heirlooms in
silk lined boxes
A traditional turban,
a studded brooch
Tucked away in an
embellished pouch
Tell me about your
soldiers, your heroes
Who line the walls in
black and white
In frames of dry Rosewood and Mahogany
Take me to their
graves, I’ll lay the wreath
Show me the paintings
you’ve treasured since ages
With the sketching
curious and strokes indefinable
Reveal to me your
secrets in whispers
That can haunt me
well for over a lifetime
Tell me about the
mysteries that have never been solved
In a language, yet to
the world, unknown
Tell me about your
culture, your traditions
Customs buried deep
under the dust of time
Labeled as ‘strange
ones’ by the rest of the world
I’ll sit and listen
for long
Till I’m sung a
lullaby in verses unfathomable
And cover myself up
in a patched quilt
Each piece
contributed by a different nation
I’ll listen to the
tales of your land and tell you about mine
So that your land
becomes mine and my land yours
And we’ll join hands
to form an endless chain
For, it’s unity that
keeps us as one and makes us stand
