Questioning Faith

I enter my modest second floor swelling,
And my old maid ushers me inside – Why?
“Head up to the balcony, sir,” she says,
“And there, look at the colour of the sky.”

Caught in the urgency of curiosity that is
So characteristic of my nature; the human way,
I rush outside before dumping my heavy bags,
Ignoring how my tired legs threaten to give away.

So then I look at the sky, my maid now there as well.
She rushes into an explanation before I register the sight
“Good Heavens,” she says, “Sir, just focus on the sky
Where you shall find a rather strange light tonight.”

Technically it is still evening right now;
The moon has yet to conquer the firmament.
But with the sun tucked away, ‘tis but night,
And I draw my eyes to this aerial ornament.

“You see that eerie red twinge,” she tries,
“That’s symbolic of a flood being at its height.
The skies say it’s a matter of life and death;
They speak of suffering and of terrible blight.”

Now enriched with her enlightening explanation –
Perhaps a village myth picked up at her rural nest –
I then look more clearly at Atlas’ burden, the sky
And it truly looks mystically crimson to the west.

I am caught by the awestruck notes of her voice.
And momentarily only, my logic I wish to surrender.
I am a man who craves to believe in the occult,
And just for an instant, I share her sense of wonder.

But then somewhere in me roars cold logic;
The need for proof drilled into me since birth.
There is scientific reason behind red dusk skies,
But I can’t disparage her wonder – it’d break her heart.

Of course, the rationalist inside me debates,
There is the curious case of atmospheric refraction;
Scattering, spectrums, Tyndall effect, the works;
Air causing light to bend (though just by a fraction).

But reddening without the sun in the sky?

Again, I question my logic and check myself.
Have I become too proof-oriented and less sublime?
But there must be a reason that I haven’t yet learned –
A scientific mystery I shall be introduced to in time.

I dispense these thoughts and mock my old maid.
“She is illiterate and ignorant,” I dismissively think.
But just then my mother walks in with a newspaper,
On one of the pages of which is printed in ink –

“Large scale damage to life due to flood
In West Bengal,” dumbfounded, I read.
But what be of my logic and solid facts?
They fail me here; the occult I’ve to heed.

And could these unfounded myths be true as well –
These stupid beliefs that are so appealing in inference?
Of course they could; there are two types of knowledge -
One that comes from concept, the other from experience.

And again I look at the sky, now ashamed.
Science has cloud my humanistic faith with wit.
It’s not my poor maid who’s ignorant, ‘tis I.
And everything needn’t have a reason behind it.

And so now as the redness fades, I think –
Can’t logic and experience concurrently stand?
Science and God aren’t exclusive of each other,
On the contrary, they go together, hand in hand.