I am not allowed to bleed near her divinity.
As The Mother brone of light and clay does not.
I need to breathe and birth without the graze of lust's gaze
As hers were out of all the innocence of Kheer's sticky sweetness made.
Yet the bloodlust must be left at the soul's door,
The Ranamurti hidden under all the appropriate layers of fabric and more.
And the touch of indignity,
run, as she certainly did, I must
into the nearest fire's embrace.
A goddess must be full of all the world's
Forgiveness and yet indomitable grace.
But, Alas, I bleed and I desire.
and I burn
only in jealousy and the years of bubbling pain turned boiling rage under the heat of time's sun.
And one day I will take a bowl and a…modest meat knife.
run rampant in the world with all the earth's selfish hunger dripping upon my brow.
Enough of being a goddess.
I want to be a human now.
