In distinctive ethnic garb,
Far removed from the everyday,
He could only hear a barb,
Spying the glass in the hallway.
Mindful again of his aim,
He set to stretch the long line,
Amid echoes of the Name,
Awaiting a peek of the Divine.
Entering each mega portal,
Chanting hymns from memory,
He felt a whit less mortal,
Words denied to his each worry.
As he crossed the threshold,
Amidst lamps, the idol gleamed;
A silence suddenly took hold,
He had nothing to say, it seemed.
To plead much, he'd come,
And had even more to confess;
In the sanctum sanctorum,
Muted, had he left God to guess?
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