As you look so indifferently away,
A thousand barbs stick and stay,
A multitude of arrows pierce so curt ,
My hand, my heart, my feet, they hurt,
Ingratitude in its relentless chase,
of yesterdays and years not a trace,
I lie on these banks of burning ghats,
The motherly waters in agonized knots,
Helpless at this ordeal, of my lowly fate,
Munificence of karma in its slowly rotate,
I seek a pillow from your quiver to rest,
Await my liberation from a curse so aghast,
For all my reticence, I shall now seek the Sun,
As it moves from South to North on a season turn,
I lie on your bed of arrows, yet so divine,
Your thousand names I recite, now so nervine.


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