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The Prayer

When the bells are ringing slowly,


I look around to sing,
I see nobody around me,
And I begin to sing.

I sing of the strong fighters,


Some with flashing guns,
Others with little pens,
Fighting for our sons.

I sing of the strong women,


Some with bad news,
Others with little hope,
Hope within their clues.

I sing of the children,


Some with no father,
Others with a brother,
Or a loving mother.

I sing of the enemy,


Some with a stone face,
Other with a weeping heart,
Surrounded by disgrace.

Hush, the people are a-coming,


I quickly go and hide,
Behind the golden angel,

I look in front a-while,


And see that angel smile.

-Chinmay Nirkhe