The artist made a painting  and we said it was you;
 in faith never wanting,  we revered it as true.
 
You looked so familiar,  like the neighbor next door;
 bedecked with much grandeur,  gold and jewels galore.
    
Eyes shut in devotion,  hands folded in prayer;
 all rituals in perfection,  your presence we shared.
 
And yet I know you are formless,  beyond time and all space;
 with dimensions that are endless,  no image can we trace.
 
So for comfort and ease,  we believe this to be you;
 love it and praise it,  with a devotion so true.

They came-
the rich, the grand and the beautiful.
I held my breath in awe;
and saw them
fade into the pages of history.
..............if 'The Savoy' at Mussoorie could speak....