I pass them regularly
along the Western Waterfront.
Each one, tightly clutching dangling prayer beads
in clenched hands.
Each set of beads different, yet the same.
The Buddhists, Tibetans, Hindus and Sikhs with their malas,
the Christians with their rosaries,
the Muslims with their subha or misbaha
and the Atheists with their car keys.
I pray too.
I pray for the soft 'whoosh'
of a turbulent whirlwind,
that materializes out of nowhere.
I pray that it lifts them all off the ground together,
gently swirling and twirling them
around and around,
head over heels;
before softy placing them back on the ground.
I pray that it mercilessly tangles their beads together,
into an inseparable braid
that binds them together as one;
forever and ever.
Amen.
YOU ARE READING
POEMS from EAST of WEST
PoetryPOEMS from EAST of WEST is a short collection of accessible short poems. The poems were inspired by my daily walks in a natural setting, throughout all four seasons of the year, in the west end of the city of Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Although the...
