Scents

I sat there, in the prayer room,
for an hour at least.
I sang, I chanted,
and still, I wanted to stay on longer.

I wanted to stay
to breathe the scent emanating
from the incense stick.
Even from afar I can smell
its fragrant scent.
The smell of that certain brand of uthabathi,
my Aaya's favourite brand,
I immeadiately associate the fragrance
with her, her house, her gardens.

I wanted to stay,
to watch the trails of smoke emanating
from the incense stick.
Watch it as it first streams out
in a single line,
watch as it streams out in folds,
like a too long ribbon,
watch as the smoke scrunches up and
curls itself around nothing, it seems,
and fades into thin air.

So mesmerizing it was,
that I only stirred when
there was nothing left,
no scent,
no smoke.