Frail Krishnaveni
Bore the autumn-mellowness
of seventy years of age
on her withered visage
Her age-ravaged face
Spoke with eloquent silence
Of an extraordinary inner beatitude
Three profound furrows
On her pale brow
Recorded her experience-filled existence.
Her piety-filled head
Shorn of her silver locks
Offered to Lord Subramanya at Tiruttani
Reflected an iridiscent other-world light
Her tired eyes spoke
of the frozen frosts of
Filial neglect and ungratefulness
That have remained buried deep
Within her soul for decades
In these cold wintry years
Of lonely ripeness
Her troubled soul cries out aloud
To Lord Subramanya
Contemplating the infinitude of His mercy
And waiting for promised Deliverance.
