Cities As I Feel It

Hong Kong

. 2 .

It took the last breath of oxygen, for my lungs needed. 

I dived into sea of smokes, where promises and hopes are dancing everyday's waltz. Whisperers around me. They have made me feel as I am in the center of the ritual, where you are touched by the magical sound of Buddhist mantras. Deities and Gods [with different faces] are sitting as yogis in the same positions. Animal and birds, surrounded by the donations are flourishing in the Man Mo Temple. 

Oranges and flowers, red envelopes and water. Every single gift is purely for the Masters sitting on the golden tables and looking down to shades of human faces. Handfuls of incenses, low voice murmurs and numerous submissions. You can only see how lips are moving in the prayers' faces.  

Above your head, be careful, you will find burning coils and spirals, made from the same strong incenses. As they outspread the fume around you, their dead pieces fall down to bless your soul with  residue of ashes. Spirals wane in front of you. The only thing it leaves behind - the smell in the expensive suit, you put on for this occasion. 

Uncomfortable you can feel, staring to those people, doing obeisances. You are a ghost among them. Hiding in the fog of charm and never have spoken their language of love. You stood there as an outlander to their daily prayer. But even though you leave the Temple without knowing what people have been saying there, you can feel in your lungs and blood system, that some murmurs will be hiding as an undisclosed secret...