Worship

A thousand times I wet my head

with water from the holy rivers.

My silken robes ply softly

folds of purity tucked in my body.

With steady hands I draw

your sacred marks of graveyard ash.

The lamp glows calm

A golden drop, the conscious' shine

Your fragrance swells and overflows

as my breathing slows of its own will.

I chant the chants with utmost care

wincing at every word that comes imperfect.

The water flows unburdened

nectar it is, nectar flows.

And yet my Father...

Sans effort that yellow flower

has reached your feet already.

Orphaned Words

I pray to you my love;

Free these orphaned words of mine.

They come to your world,

innocent and blind

with no hand to hold.

Protect them, my Goddess;

From the viles of reason.

Let them not pursue ideals,

truths and praise,

for their weak feet will tire soon.

Bind them not, my Goddess;

In harsh fetters of grammar.

Let them not be stifled with craft,

genius and order,

for they have no discipline.

Free them, my Love;

Set them on a song, light and gentle.

Let them play in the sand,

dust and the streets,

for they can amount to nothing more.

Bless them, my Love;

So that they may sing

of your dark face like the mango leaf

your smile like the jasmine

for that will be their salvation.

Let them go no further My Love,

but just sing of you,

your home by the river under the mango tree

Of evenings, gilded sunsets,

of birds returning home

then...

fade gently into your night.