Waves pound the rocks of millennia

Rounded by weathering, honeycombed by wear,

Peaked by fissuring, slanted by tectonic shift,

Lichened orange but darkened by waters

Lapping their base as the skies brighten,

Revealing the formless beauty of the morning.

Across the bay temples house once bare rocks

Now graven into images, chipped and chiselled

In the probing imagination of the minds

Of a thousand sculptors and a billion worshippers

Expressing the eternal spirit's desire

To show what's there with fullest meaning.

Mantras echo across the waves

Recited almost without understanding

Yet accepted with devotion by the heart

In its quest for the creator, with whom I speak

In silence between the breakers' roar,

Bringing cleansing and peace to a turbulent world.

Kovalam

2 May 2003