Old Church

In my Christian childhood I used to visit my country church usually. Its moss eaten walls were damp and green. Doves always perched its roofs. Always its altar emitted the smell of camphor. Old church is situated in a scenic hill side. Its silence always interrupted by whistling winds. Surrounded by blue misty mountains it became vanish from view in winter. Its thorny bush path is surrendered to grass sprouting. Its tall bell tolls on Sundays and call the worshipers for worship. Sin and solace…love and lust…these 4 words nailed me into a cross. Today I found 4 wounds in my body. I heard the heart piercing bell toll of our old church