WHO IS SHE?

TWO SELVES OF A WOMAN

She comes everyday,

Stands in front of You  in the morn,

After a holy dip.

Changing to her wash cleaned clothes,

With a veil around  her two lusty bosoms,

 

This morn also here she comes,

A “chandaal” on her knuckle,

Her hot breath You feel,

Closer as if nestling on You.

And on her forehead and in between the brows a redded “tilak”.

 

She whispers You with her two blossom lips in daily prayer;

“Spare me from aging,  don’t pull me down from the peak of youth”.

 

Mirror! You are bold and fearless

To tell the truth.

Wrinkles, lines and dirt of hers

Spot where they are.

And tell me who is she.

 

Is she a “sati”,

Or a fallen “Vhairabi”,

Or in her “roop” of a “Mohini”?

 In her curvy gait with the two thrusting fronts,

As if to destroy the demons with her juice.

 

Now she stands before You,

With all her possessions.

Tell me who is she.