The Traveller – Part 1

The temple in ruins!
The traveller drawn to the ravage;
What beckons him?
Why the yearning?
Was he not on his way to someplace else?
Yet here he was on top of a desolate hill,
The worship place of yesterday in apparent despair.

A stranger he is, but he feels connected.
That desolation with a strange energy,
Deep curiosity sucking him deeper,
He has been there.

In those ruins he chances upon,
The phallus worshipped by millions,
Intact and splendid,
Adorned by a flower red and white.

Sudden fear, for he feels a presence.
Did he just see an apparition in yellow?
Or was it orange?
He wants to run,
Though he knows it is a temple.

But he stands, transfixed;
Wonderment and bewilderment.
He feels the warm grip of faith,
He feels the warm grip of love,
A torrent of conflicting emotions.

The red and white flowers,
Did he put them there in some life?
Kept safe for him by the apparition in yellow?
Or was it orange?
He feels her, for he knows she is female.

He the devotee of the Blue Throat Supreme,
She the devotee of the Goddess.
Or was she the Goddess herself?
When was he here?
Where did she go?

He must leave.
But he feels a tug at his heart strings.
He knows he belonged here, still does,
But this is a different life,
He is somebody else.

The traveller bows to the phallus,
Doesn’t disturb the flowers.
He feels the presence,
He knows she will come,
Is it not almost time?

He leaves sombre and quenched,
The temple in ruins.
The abode of the God and the Goddess,
Fresh yet and new,
The flowers symbolic of a lifetime of devotion.
The traveller continues on his journey