The Hermitage of the Giver

January 15, 2009
Sometimes when I feel lonely but potent, I go
To the hermitage of the giver,
I bask in the glorious scent of pure bliss,
While being escorted to a celestial cottage.
On my left, I see a museum brimming with age- old artifacts,
Overflowing with timeless stories to tell,
And I hear the sweet calls of a splendid peacock;
There is a delicate doe dancing fearlessly in its vast expanse of freedom,
And I join the fortunate deer in its serene ballet.

The wholesome smell of the burning incense and rough, exotic woods
Is like the presence of a powerful energy,
That can transport me through eternal time.
The sage’s dwelling’s own morning mist at dawn,
This intoxicating aroma of syrupy pastries being freshly prepared,
is mine to keep,
This special abode of God’s,
Is my special memory.

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