Your treasures though not mine,
Make me rich for you;
For me: I become the richest
By my thought.

You may have met your punctual miracle
Everywhere!
I meet mine through you:
You passing me my dues.

Several of heaven’s people
I know, are all the same —
Be they in your pervading kingdom,
Or dwelling in my land.

Even the butterfly in your park
Drops a smile on my homesick eye —
It flies with my memories:
In the same old-fashioned way.

On desertly skies,
When the staunch chant develops
In your opulent minarets —
I do not feel an outcaste in ranks
Or, broken in faith.

Alike our likeness,
I also believe in One God —
God of all creations!
My humble heart craves
for His open grace —
the same way as you pray.

1995

Geeta Chhabra

From the book: An Indian Ode To The Emirates