Hounding for Light,

In the dead of Night

A creature of voracious appetite;

Its rage turned inward,

Is eating itself, from the tail

Bloodied in bile and blood.

 

The madness of her ways,

Left her without a place,

A way to belong.

The creature isn’t vile,

Once upon a time it knew no vice

It was not a rabid ghoul,

It was a human in measures full,

A woman of beauty and wit

Of ambitions and grit.

But she was seldom happy

And hardly alone,

Squandering herself

In people and things,

Who would ruin her, loot all her wealth,

Health and well-being.

 

Once she spiraled down the hell-hole,

Gaping, gawking, gagging

in her own desires, the poison of her unnatural ways

the habits of the insidious, the company of devious

Descending into decadence.

When ‘love’ turned into a flimsy escapade

To ravish, rage and for ruthless possession,

She left ‘love’ to the dogs

And raved onward, but to a deathly passion.

 

The precious elixir of her heart had burnt

Her heart had sunk, her youth had waned

Her body was a pile of flesh and pain.

The tormented soul sought all advice

The counsel of saints and sinners alike,

Knowledge seeped in like gentle rain,

And although her whole being was suffering in pain,

This pain to grow would never be in vain.

 

Mad woman, Monstrous creature, Motherless lamb

She was divine even in the darkest clamour –

Darkness and gloom swathed her being,

But Kindness was a halo that always redeemed.

 

The murk of the world and worldly beings

Was showered on her, and again teased

But her forbearance knew no bounds,

Her fright was now a mighty gale abound,

Destructive like the tremors of Mother earth

Or silent like the ravages of a flood.

And yet she bore and bred and breathed

Life into countless beings.

Silent like a river, gentle as wind

Morphing into Dark and Light at whim.

Her greatness revered in Heaven and Hell,

Her words was potent of any boon or bane

But Compassion remained her only claim.

 

They called her Kubja,

Kurupa in Rama’s reign,

Patacara in Buddha’s time,

Gaia in Greek lines

and the obscure Magdalene

of Biblical times.

 

 

(I dedicate this post to my mother Subhadra, Sushree Nishtha ji whom i also revere as Mother and Sanjana Om for encouraging me to write.)

 

 

 

 

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Riya Raj

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