In the temple of the banyan tree
set within the circle of a zoo
where men were kept in tiger cages
and children held out sugar cane
to friendly elephants
I saw where gods lived.
On the fragrant curls of incense
deeply smoked into the banyan’s
ropy branching coiled walls
god(s) floated, whispering
a name I did not recognise
from church.
This, I knew at once,
was where god(s) lived.
Here among the tree’s silver
grey limbs, cradled in its coiled branches,
mystery and wisdom played cards
bargaining for knowledge.
Nothing has changed
although memory patinas like an amulet
and I am trying to remember
what I heard so long ago & far away
in the temple of the banyan tree
just beyond the boundary of childhood
Foremost, your ending phrase “beyond the boundary of childhood” made me think of a time of wonder even in my young adulthood. It was a time of adventure, buoyant confidence, and hope. I miss that; lately I have frequently considered needing that space of spiritual comfort and challenge.
What vivid senses you appeal to with men in tiger cages (this sight is ghastly), fragrant curls of incense deeply smoked, sugar cane (my tongue tastes sweetness even now), cradled in its coiled branches (an embrace of touch?), on and on. I like that this is a poem of faith that involves the whole body, not an abstract argument of heady theory only.
I am curious if you found something in your cupboard for this hour’s prompt that evoked this evocative poem. I loved many lines and this one especially: ‘although memory patinas like an amulet’ and the repetition of the title in the poem…