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How should I come to thee?
Should I make it my mission?
Work out a submission, or
Just follow the Hindu tradition?
You are the rarified liquid mother
Eternally capturing
The sun, moon, stars, and Shiva’s seed,
In your compassionate embrace
And transforming them all into life.
How shall I come to thee?
Shall I wait by thy shore?
Sing you ancient lore, or
Just ask for no more?
I have heard you speak to many a man
In warm fluid cadences—
Seers, soothsayers, mendicants,
Humbugs, thieves, usurpers—
And accepted them without discrimination.
They have all come to thee,
Saints and sages,
Men of all ages,
People with or without wages!
I implore thee,
To take me in your arms once again
And guide me, teach me, train me,
Encourage me, enlighten me,
For I am lost.
I wait for thee
As I have always waited in the past
Purifying my senses
Strengthening my powers
Teach me to read ancient scripts,
Teach me to be a warrior,
Teach me to slay the demon,
Like Kartikeya or Bhishma
I too am your son. |
