And on the eighth day, She began to think of home. Her four children, their faces swirling In the evil mist that filled the air. Dust rose about her and an eerie silence Filled the battlefield. Splashes of blood and sweat smudge her face She is conscious of a great slash in her thigh Where a horn, sharp as a dagger had sliced her clothing She had not felt pain but rage As the buffalo demon pawed the earth, And a collective gasp went up from the gods who watched from a safe distance. Cowards, she thought, shaking her hair out of her eyes, Each able to take the form of a woman as the mood came upon them. But all citing Shivas boon to Mahisashura To excuse themselves from entering the fray. Her fingers felt for one arrow and then another For a second, wanting to turn on them Wouldnt that be one for the books A mere woman, mother to Shivas sons Dressed merely with the powers of the mighty pantheon Turns on them instead, the fools! But then sense returns as her only companion Faithful Simha looks at her askance A horde of jackals whimper in the darkness and winged shadows rise And Durga remembers her duty As a woman. As an instrument of the gods, Her purpose is to be Mahisashuras nemesis. She must do that before she can return To the children and their father, To question him why he caused their son to lose his head But gave a demon the blessing of eternal life.
Posted on: Thu, 02 Oct 2014 07:43:09 +0000
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