He is up there

in a sky, incandescent, brilliant,

showering us

with His inner light;

On moon-less nights the joyous glow,

is also from the stars you know;

nights when the crescent shines full swing

He soars above, love-laden, watchful, and serene.

Seeing Him,
each, the way we want to

different lenses, one sovereign!

Travelling in an open chamber

temple, mosque, church,

gurdwara, synagogue, call it any other

It’s as if he’s flung his windows wide

in a circular room without a side

to look out yonder in equal measure

upon His world, His clay, His pride.

We are all moulded by him

millionaire, child, sinner or king

We all carry His inner light !


Smeetha Bhoumik