They cut your tongue,
they ripped apart your heart,
they played with your flesh,
Still like an eagle, you fly high!
You have the right to live, survive, resist the dancing rocks of death,
tombs of plastics
that cut through the hidden icebergs; flesh of salmon;
betrayed lust.
Still like fire, you engulf the earth.
Who are you?
the mother, sister, grandmother,
daughter,
Who are you?
Particles of dust, shadows of lust,a rowing boat, fingers of trust
or the outburst of the purest stream of Godavari, Ganga, Saraswati!
O Mother!
You wake up!
Wake up as the death’s dancing feet, goddess’s red tongue that defy lust
and give birth to the new cosmos.
You are not the futile stars of the dead universe!
Let the constellation of stars,
the center of the earth,
Zenith’s rolling cloud hide your swelled up parts
as you unite with the Lord of Lords
and like fire engulf the tempest of lust.
Mother!
You rise!
You rise!
You conquer the dark myths of the fragmented structure’s vague lies –
Copyright @Priyanka Banerjee
