The letters curved themselves
upon the blank white paper
and went to sleep.
Time froze upon the layers
of dust on the old table.
Wind was trapped in the leaves
of the fan.
Some thoughts ran wildly
from the tip of the pen,
Piercing through the calm
of the closed books.
A voice demanded to be heard,
A face wanted recognition.
Everyone - smug, trapped or awakened,
Strives to earn their place.
Come, join the rank.
Worship
My body is a temple
You are my idol.
My soul, an offering at your feet.
I welcome your worshipers
with divine charity;
I elevate myself through your service.
The unspoken and the unspeakable
Cloud my life.
I offer everything unto you.
They touch me,
Grope around my curves,
Squeeze my flesh lustily.
They worship you,
and hungrily devour me - your prasada. *1
They melt in me,
And I, in you.
Take me higher,
show me my Paramatman. *2
1. Prasada (Hinduism) - a religious offering that is consumed by devotees after they worship in a temple.
2. Paramatman (Hinduism) - Supreme Soul/Spirit
© 2014 Namitha Varma-Rajesh
Namitha Varma-Rajesh
Expressions
