You sat in the darkness of your shrine

The glow of the oil lamp

Catching the brilliance of your nose-stud

The splendor of your jewels

And the rich brocades wrapped around

Your granite figure

That merged into the darkness

Of the sanctum sanctorum

Years of penance, fasts severe

Unknown to all but

The confines of my soul

Offering flowers, ghee, camphor

Incense fragrant and chants incessant

While you sat - regal, unmoved.

A black granite figure

Till you felt

The tears

Red hot blood

That fell at your feet.

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