A Recollection

In a trance am I reminiscent,

Of times performing sacred rites.

Twice there and yet remains a longing insistent,

To be among those at sacred sites.

Every little act is a worship consistent,

Away from reach of worldly spites.

Those five days of bliss persistent,

Gathering at plains where judgment day smites.

Holding on our deeds in hands hesitant.

Spending night under sky without frights,

Forgetful of any issues coexistent.

Then a sea of people flowing back to their camp sites.

Five days a dress rehearsal of final judgment,

And then a celebration through savory bites.