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Your ritual lies in my defiance,
The mighty God they claim you to be—
Oh dear seer with compelling radiance,
You’re none but an imaginary friend to me.
Nomenclatures they take pride in their lustful glare,
In your pursuit of knowledge,
Do you even remember them, O seer?
With languages, they soil your grammar,
Insecure barbarians, they use you for war;
Oh how I admire the pets you have–
Those playful bulls and charismatic snake,
The Kailash snow I can only crave,
Covetous retards, in your name,
They put others at stake.
Let us speak now in an erotic tone,
Isn’t this supposed to be day,
When you’ll feast upon my emotion?
Let us tie garlands like estranged lovers,
In the way we make love in wee hours,
When they sleep in their patriarchal crown,
Let me be your savior,
Oh beloved, do not moan.
Let me be the tarnished milk and ignite the summer rain,
Let me be the aroma of your ashes,
And I shall efface away your pain.
I love you for the God you are,
Wishes I have none, it’s just your desire,
Where once you made them your poison,
That blue throat of patriarchal charm;
Oh my dear Lord, drink from my lips,
The elixir I have to offer in my prayers;
I would kiss your ear to tell,
The myths they made shall no more sell.
Akanda flowers I have none for you,
But I shall give mine if you seek,
With my white nectar, I shall wet your eyes,
And you will come discarding your wives,
And we shall talk like two old friends,
Oh beloved Shiva, your ritual lies in my defiance.