A COMMON SOUL

Oh dear folk, the world’s one soul with one paradise, 

Confined in a million casts and crafts;

That kneels down, sacrifices entirety, and each given life by the same sunrise,

Who strive and seek Nirvana in spiritually combined drafts.

An august gathering of the well- read chaps,

Who got boons for their lionised beings?

But an exemplar hush- hush secret of their demise perhaps,

That solution to their end was a mere cavity in their immortal proceedings.

For Hiranyakashyap turned to dismantle every birth,

The pillars of humanity as though the arch that he was;

The boon where he couldn’t be killed on earth,

In sky, with weapons or with bare hands or jaws.

Would Hiranyakashyap know there’s a defeat that arrives with every ill-will?

Then came Narasimha, Vishnu’s lion self to slay kill;

Placed him on his knee and then flashed his claws,

That tore his heart apart, in bounds of the Shiva’s indelible clause.

Or the penniless maiden of Holland,

Mata Hari, in the name of god, who established the stones of her destiny;

Said she was born in Java and brought up on Indian land,

And that her dance was based on Hindu aristocracy splendidly.

But, the French were to realise she was in fact a spy,

Over the cache of false identities and her drop of Indian blood;

And that the falsehoods of meaningful dances were a lie,

She was again left in the poor mud.

Or could it be dutiful Ravana, ardent for Shiva’s oath,

And the Homa Yagna of Rama for post war growth;

Advised Rama, without Sita, was not enough,

Performed the Yagna and blessed Ram, his opponent, for the fight tough.

We are all tied to that deity divine,

As much as he is to us,

Our actions are well-versed with that fine line,

On dictates of rulers of the Elysium, thus.