My Best Prayer

It was unlike the gazillions of prayers,
tormenting gods across the globe.
It was voiceless,
in the language of my heart.

It sprouted in my mind purified by pain,
grew in the anxiety before the operation theater.
There was neither incense nor camphor burning.
Instead, the air smelled of Dettol.

I prayed
with the same helplessness of the ancient man.
As a sheet anchor.
My soulful pleading reverberated
in the forlorn abyss.

It was natural,
limpid,
like a rain drop.
A relaxant.

I see her miraculously alive.
That was my best prayer.

First published in The Literary Hatchet.