Prayag

and when she touched me,
I remembered
the longing,
the pilgrimage
I've been on,
looking for that something
without a name,
until I reached
the prayag
of pain and joy,
where I dipped
my weary soul,
cleansing the pores
of a body
clogged by the grime
of unlived lives
and moments
too stubborn
to be washed away
by mundanities,
as if waiting
over lifetimes even
for her to walk in
and bless me
with the stillness
and Grace
of the gushing river
in her soft hands;
and I rested
in the womb
of a mother
I never had.