Offering

Chongtham Ronikumar
Before the shrine I lay my gift,
Coins and notes in trembling hands.
For the child, for the home,
For a future yet unseen.
The drums fall silent for a while,
Yet another call soon rises.
Again the purse is opened,
Again the heart is asked to give.

Priests chant beneath the sacred sky,
Ancient rites circle like seasons.
Promises bloom and fade,
But the demands return anew.
The festival dances on and on,
Day after day, year after year.
The offerings grow lighter,
While worries gather weight.

At last I stand and wonder:
Has the path reached its ending?
The echoes answer softly—
Not yet, not yet.
For faith walks forward endlessly,
Between devotion and burden,
Carrying hope in one hand.