(Before I forget.)
Guru parab was on Sunday,
Drumbeat, the lazy rhythm of lazim, intermittent crackers, a mad tempo
A saint-messenger feted with burgers, savories, dry fruit
The crowd dressed in their best;polyester and stilettos,
Chanting in procession by the silver chariot.
So much of pomp and show
In memory of such a simple man.
That evening the gurudwara is quiet
Just the blanket of lights on white marble
Your footsteps echo on a winding staircase
The crowds are elsewhere.
To the chant of the shabad, forehead to the ground
So much white, dazzling
Nothing to ask for, is good too.