Sunday, 12 July 2009


My body is a temple
You are my idol.

My soul, an offering at your feet.

I welcome your worshippers
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.

They melt in me,
And I, in you.

Take me higher,
show me my Paramatman.

II. (May 19, 2010)
Men offer their prayers at my shrine
And move on, not thine nor mine;
They wash their faces in my tears,
Their lips speak all my fears,
Their prayers tainted by lust,
They mutter and mumble and lazily chant.

I wonder at their farce,
I cringe as they touch me -
their vulgar fingers coated with greed,
I laugh that I am their deity
I cry about all lack of piety.

A little temple, a little idol,
A little unknown and yet sought after,
I seek those days of total anonymity
I wish I had a mortal death, a bout of insanity.

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