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