I shall not pray
to be your kingdom,
nor the saint's nor seer's wisdom,
just a bolt I wish to be
on your palace door.
The touch of your hand
shall give me hitherto unknown lustre
life after life that I long for...
I was not the arrow, I know,
you shoot at valiant Ravan,
but I was the hissing sound
the arrow made in its flight
to way lay your ardent devotee
in a make-believe fake flight!
Perhaps I was not
one of your playmates in Brindavan,
but can you ever deny
that I was that piece of the bamboo
you picked up to make your flute,
for within me I hear
the notes so sweet and cute...
So far I have been travelling
in search of me,
manifest in a tiny spot in you,
can I discover me this time
in some insignificant corner in your creation!
