30 SEPTEMBER 1995, Page 44

Deus Absconditus

In every temple compound, under some tree Exhausted by its effort to grow Unwatered, yet festooned in faded silks, These bits of broken holiness abound: Stone, plaster, plastic, terracotta, wood, Carved, moulded, fired, gaudy with crimson and gold, The head or the feet of the Buddha, a smashed plaque, A dancing acolyte dismembered, strewn Together with green sherds of splintered glass, Spirals of dog-turds, spills of litter, much Preserving all this shattered deity.

One in particular I coveted - A headless ivory figurine, its arms Spread out in blessing, each tiny fold of robe Distinctly beautiful, and intricate, And perfect in its three-inch skilfulness.

Discarded, not destroyed; not thrown away; Not quite abandoned . . . No one would know, I knew, And yet I knew I could not pocket it, Assembled, humbled, among all that trash.

Lust for possession stunted me, a tree