She prays fervently
morning to night
a book in hand
as she incessantly chants
hymns and odes
to her Almighty
I long to ask her
why she never stops
God has only ever given her
a life marked by toil
a few oases of meagre joy
in a vast desert of suffering
She does this
unceasingly
every waking hour
perhaps even when asleep
She jerks awake
lost moments unnoticed
Lips resume recital
overlooking the pause
The weight of prayer
sits heavily on eyes
Lids droop
as she sways forward
the book sliding out
of slack fingers
© Uma Venkatraman 2015