Starting a series on Bells and tales

The Bell

— by Smita Amit

I saw a bell — half sunk in clay,

Its shimmer dulled by time’s decay.

It seemed so small, yet oddly proud,

More hush than gong, more chime than loud.

Was it once hung in a temple spire,

Summoning Gods with faith and fire?

Or did it ring in the saheb’s hall,

To summon tea — or a peon’s call?

Did it grace the neck of a roaming bull,

Tinkling through lanes when dusk was dull?

Or was it tied to a cradle's string,

To hush a babe or make joy sing?

Perhaps it called a king to court —

To hear the poor or hold the fort?

Or maybe it was cast in gold,

An offering to the mountain cold?

A relic lost, or purpose shed —

Its voice still echoes, though long dead.

And if a God once heard its ring —

Who listens now, to anything/

A mythological tale on bells follows in my next post