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Seven past seven
That crisp summers morning
My world fell apart.

My door burst open
With such urgency and I knew.
I knew that your time had come.

I remember everything about that day
Mis-matched clothes, thrown on so fast.
Getting stuck behind that slow ******* driver.

We'd never done the journey so quickly
And who cared that it was a thirty? Not us.
We flew to you that day, but it felt like a lifetime.

We left the car abandoned, my Mother and I,
Rushing through reception, with an urgency
So strong, it still brings tears to my eyes.

Down the corridors, the corridors that were tilted today.
Dizzy, so dizzy. This couldn't happen now, not ever.
Into the room they called 'yours'.

There you were. A sunken shadow
Of your former, loving self.
Gaunt and dying you laid there, and we held you.

I'll never know if we were too late that day.
They say you have seven minutes until the brain shuts down.
And the hearing would be the last to go.

I lost count how many times I told you I loved you
As you slipped away into a permanent unconsciousness.
Gone, forever.

Words fail me.
Lust is but a game for fools
A fool is what you're not.
For love not lust, is what we have
Which shall not be forgot.

The way your hand fits in mine
The way your kisses feel.
I know your heart, you know mine too
Will forever be entwined.
over a snow-covered mountain top in heaven
some secret river lies
stirring not earthwards
this river of the Gods

and then a prince disturbs
her peaceful ferocity
with determined prayer to cleanse
the sins of his forefathers

Look she trembles with wounded pride!
Not a mere mortal river is she
a Goddess, her anger awakened
but she must proceed

the Gods have asked her so she shall go
but she makes her displeasure known
threatening to swallow all of existence
she follows

the earth shakes
it cannot hold her weight
her power her strength her majestic gait
life-giver, she is now a messenger of death

in her anger she is beautiful,
this world cannot sustain her
only he who wields the trident
can reign in her fall

and then the Mahadev traps her
even as she falls in a mighty torrent
thinking she will sweep him
to the nether regions

in his locks she is lost
struggling, she resembles
the naga around his neck
she spits like a cobra

this immortal river
stays tangled in his locks for many a year
till, defeated and frustrated
she begs forgiveness

and then with his blessings
she trickles down
still furious in pace
but in heart at peace

the mother of all rivers-
this river of rebirth
her sound like thunder
her hair like streaks of lightning

celestial beings witness
the skies are lit
the parched earth satiated
Ganga has descended

as Bhagirathi

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
         03.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
The Ganges in Hindu mythology is considered the holiest of holy rivers. She has the status of a Goddess, as she belongs to swarga (roughly translated as heaven). She is considered to be so pure, that bathing in her waters can not only rid one of physical ailments but also cleanse one's sins.
King Bhagiratha (an ancestor of Sri Rama) is credited with bringing her down to earth, as a means of releasing his forefathers from a curse. Ganga, would not descend willingly, but had to do so at the order of the Gods. In her vanity, she fell so furiously that the earth was in danger of being destroyed. Lord Shiva controlled her fall by trapping her in his jata (hair). This poem describes this incident.
It's strange how
Such an innocent question,
Can bring back memories
You forgot you ever made.

The tree with a platform
Big enough for three.
Please
Please, help me find that tree?
A Ghostly Moon Climbed,
Over A Thick Tree Line,
The Ground Was Covered With Mud,
Adreniline Swam Inside Churning Blood,
A Lip Was Being Bitten,
To Block Back A Scream,
A Story Was Being Written,
Even Though It Was A Dream

Green Eyes Turned To Gold,
Ontop Of Wood,
That Was Rotting,
It Was So Old,
Talons Ripped Through The Moss,
Her Heart Was Being Tossed,
Around In Her Chest,
She Wasn't Human Then,
But She Was At Her Best

A Sly Silhouette,
Crossed Her Path,
She Was Playing Russian Roulette,
But She Faced The Wrath,
She Layed On Her Back,
To Ask For Trust,
Piercing Her Neck,
Teeth Felt Like Tacks,
It Was Hard To Stay Calm
But It Was A Must

The Shadow Realeased Thy Grip,
But It Didnt Let Her Leave Without Blood Drip,
A Cut On Her Sholder,
Left A Scar,
One She Gained Underneath The Stars

She Woke With A Fright,
In The Early Morning Light,
Blankets At The End Of Her Bed,
A Red Hot Pounding In Her Head,
She Looked Down,
And What Did She See?
The Wound On Her Shoulder,
She Had Recived
I hardly speak of what I know, instead of what you need to hear,
A silent whisper, a furtive word, I utter into your ear.
I stole the bough of happiness.
I won the chance to change your fate.
And from this trough of scrappiness,
Springs forth the seed of hate.

You hath not strength of mind to speak of love you so desire,
So I’ll make haste and burn the bush, then pluck you from the fire.
I’ve lost that want of happiness.
But the power rests in me,
To send his favour back to you,
And content the heart of thee.

This love you need seems absent now but I’ll take it from the shelf,
I grant this gift of such treasured hoards, I save none for myself.

And thy heart begins to melt.
O! how the heavens have forgotten to engage me.
It’s been so long since we’ve cried. I remember,
Sitting by the windowsill as a child,
And my sun-starved eyes would echo
Those dusty white flakes in all their splendour, as they lazily tumbled down,
Softly blanketing the ground.

And my mother would sternly warn me; ‘Don’t watch or it will stop!
‘And your snowman will be a puddle, out upon the crop.’

I struggled to tear my eyes away; I strived. I really tried.
But maybe I gazed too long,
Because the snowman I made had died.

— The End —