IMAGE CREDITS: Pinterest ( Public Domain)
Worshipped in the day,
Fucked at night.
Somedays, Loved and lusted,
Somedays, Banished and abandoned.
Then burnt alive as a witch.
They needed her blessings,
But abhorred her wrath.
She was an archetype of compassion
That could be easily pleaded guilty.
The garb of faces around her
That praise her forms,
But cannot see her anything
More than a body.
To whom can she show her bleeding heart
That never stops loving
In spite of all insult!
Who can understand and simply sit with her,
Without any lust for power, siddhi, Mukti or money?
Who can dare to be singed
By the flame of her truth?
So she lives like an ascetic
And a avadhootha at heart…
While you may offer her
All your wealth as adornments,
And seem to pamper and woo her,
You will never know her heart
Which is the deepest treasure of all.
This is your destiny
That you will always remain only on her periphery,
And that is her will
That she will always remain untouched!