A Poem on Faith
She sits alone, not lonely, in a silent nook,
Rarely does she make an appearance.
In that irksome realm of cerebral dictates,
She abhors the defined march of the minutes.
A raw vision blinded by obstinacy,
They believe everything is within the arm’s grasp,
Yet their questions continue to thrive, squatting confused in the dark.
Tribe of the trite, the shrine you seek sits beneath your nose; awake!
Give her your hand, friend, let her unlace that dusky veil,
Don’t be scared, it takes but an ounce of courage.
See the world like never before, through eyes newly begotten,
See your doubts fade in her touch, hold her close, have faith…
For it is by the spark of faith we live,
Shedding the monotony of mute existence.
For it is by her bidding, we conquer,
It is with her blessing we rise.