Devi Paksha.

In the time of the Goddess. 

Dedicated to Nirbhaya
In that bus, a Durga lay whipped- worshipped.
I met her myself. Her forehead streaked with blood-bindi,
Her body gloriously broken – bred by the anger of the ghoul-gods
She lay with a dying-dawning call on her red chopped-cherubic lips.
The demon-deities chanted metallic madness-mantras
Her friend-familiar lay bleeding-blessed as revered ritual of lust-love
Thumped in rhythm with death-drums
The vast city sprawled heedless-in harmony as harlot-Holiness writhed- roared
In pain-pleasure awful to behold.                                
Conches blared and crowds of lovers threw faults-flowers; body-bhog was served and
Devoured and the relish in the air lasted hours.
People- pandals were visited- violated, more friends were met-mutilated,
And some time on Dashami the battered-brave-bruised-beautiful Durga was immersed.
Some lit candles-incense with flaming fires of aarti-arguments, leading the way to ghat-grave.
Asuras crowed-cowered victorious-vanquished.

Durga lay immersed and dead and no one cared a fig or turned a head. 
My first poem after a long time. I like it. 

One Comment Add yours

  1. “Durga lay immersed and dead and no one cared a fig or turned a head.”

    Glaring, bloody truth isn't it. We mutilate the essence of that very sacredness that we worship in temples. Why is that… I wish everyone read this. U have poured your heart into this girl.


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