WHEN SHIVA MOURNED SATI

by Gurpartap Parmar

The tiled roofs

Of red temples

Came crashing down,

Crashing down

On the heads of priests

And porcelain idols.

And all the hatchlings

Died in their nests,

Blind and dumb,

Soft and pink.

The chasms opened

Then swallowed,

And melded voices

Groaned from below.

In the end:

Tyrant flames, the Great Fire;

The Earth became

Her funeral pyre.