She's, on my mom's side, a first cousin <br />A chirpy cheerful octogenarian <br />With ever an old-world charm <br />And smile that will instantly disarm <br /> <br />She is just an old-time matriculate <br />But in many speaks quite proficient <br />All her waking time, she usually passes <br />In pious prayers and devout discourses <br /> <br />He is a specialist medical doctor <br />Curing his needy patients, his main chore. <br />He believes in hardly anything else <br />Even hasn't time for anything else! <br /> <br />He asked her: 'Mom, I so fail <br />To understand why at all <br />You must pass all your day's hours <br />In prayers whose every essence <br />You cannot even well perceive.' <br /> <br />Pleasantly she answered: 'Son, <br />Not all of them I do comprehend <br />In chaste Sanskrit that they are. <br />But tell me, the pills you prescribe <br />Do you know of their every content <br />And each of their composition? ' <br /> <br />For long, over her message I mulled <br />I believe golden they are indeed <br />It's finally the faith that truly matters <br />Be it in your medicines or in prayers.<br /><br />Padmanabhan Ananth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prayers-prescriptions/
