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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