The pilgrim part 1

Across the sea, sailed from afar
In a grimy room, its door ajar
below the decks, the soot the tar
that stained the room’s walls and the lungs
of a man who prayed with a fluttering tongue,
and a kneel that frayed his prayer rug.
A chronic cough and a crippling debt,
arthritic pains like a streaming jet;
a meager price for the god he met.

He’d seen him in the flickering light
of the gleaming stars; in the will to fight
He’d heard him thundering in the rain
Unwavering through all the pain,
his faith, as though, would never wane.

He’d prayed to him to bless the land
then saw him slithering in the sand
He’d prayed to him for a better yield
then saw him waddling in the field.
He’d prayed to him five times a day,
and spoke to him whichever way
one speaks to friends and family
and awaited answers happily.

And though the answers never came,
his mantras kept on all the same.
And he prayed for peace, prosperity,
for an after life: an eternity
of boundless love that will reveal
the fruits of his religious zeal,
for his pain to yield and wounds to heal,
and to see him soon, this time for real.