Seven times they go ‘round the fire,
Seven times people pelt them with
petty prayers and pretty flowers,
blossoms and blessings.
Wilting even as they reach
The dreaming duo.
For hours he exhorts upon them,
The wonders he can do.
For hours he is drenched in
The intermittent hail of
Violated faith and wilted flowers,
Expectations, efflorescence.
Failing even as they rise up to the
Towering leader.
VANDE MATRAM!!
Several hundred lines of evening recitals
He chants to cymbals and bells.
Mechanical pauses eliciting offerings, of
Bargaining prayers and blossoming decay
Pleadings, petals.
Mute even as they drown, the
Priest, the master and
Their eternal cacophony.
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