She is mystery,
But the ego,
Doesn’t accept its ignorance.

So she is condemned, destroyed.

She is oil in the lamp,
Although the fire arising through it,
Is a great scholar and deeply religious,
So his whole life revolves around,
To throw her away,
To get rid of her.

Slowly slowly, he kills her,
Slowly slowly, mist from rose,
Disappears withering it right away.

As the glass fills with self,
The nectar in if falls apart,
The fragrance of flowers long gone,
Cuckoos melody turns crook,
In the deep ocean of eyes, drought remains.

She is Devi residing within,
Creation her nature,
Destruction his ignorance.  

P. S : Don’t mind me writing Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi, Devi… to make the word limit reach 150 to publish.

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