Tradition
He emerges, drenched
In discovery of what lies beneath:
A treasure-chest
Of ritual and belief.
No explanation for what he sees.
Just mysteries that fail to unfold
Something like a film roll
Yet to reveal
Yet to expose.
No age or time can confine
What’s yours, what’s mine.
Hearing the bell
He makes his way up,
Not alone,
But with tradition wrapped around his shoulders.
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