Ishani Mishra



Ishani Mishra


The Indian Goddess' Dream

The Indian Goddess' Dream

1 min 14.6K 1 min 14.6K

Do not worship me!

With towering flames of fire-

Emitting sparks of hope,

To my endless embodiment;

Do not adorn me!

With treasure trove of gems,

With satin, gold and blossoms;

For they unfurl into my world,

A sense of power,

A sense of valor.

The incense sticks

Emanate a fallacious aroma of strength;

The glaring lights,

Blind me into oblivion.

Do not mislead me,

Do not intoxicate me!

With momentary showers of honour.

All this festive fervor is a lie,

All these prayers are lies!

For those hands that worship me,

Are stained with my wounds,

My scars, cuts and slashes.

And those lips that chant my glory!

Are sinned with the shouts of my oppression;

The hands that carve my Trishul, my weapon,

Have chained me with prejudice;

The ears that ring with my prayers,

Will turn deaf to my screams;

When my gigantic idol

Will immerse in the ocean,

My voice will fade,

Into a silent murmur.

But I will return!

I'll return more powerful and arduous;

With my weapon sharper,

My spirit unswerving,

Daring and Divine,

Unshrinking, Unwavering, Unrelenting;

Never surrendering,

Never dying.

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