Awaiting

Ruins of the iconic Lakulish mandir, one of the most famous and certainly the most picturesque and poetic, materialize from the mist cleared by the rising sun.

Golden hands draw silver veils aside,

And show to gold and silver eyes in azure face

The scattered trappings of the foursquare shrine:

Odds and ends of ancient legends,

Staves and bars of stony poems

To Him once known as Heaven’s king,

Each line unbroken, ready at all points,

Awaiting duty’s call and willing hands,

At ease until they reclaim their place.