Today is temple-going day.
Queue is long with hundreds
waiting to see me:
praying to escape from sins,
praying to get easy money,
praying to resolve doubts.
Outside one shop is there
selling flowers and coconut
to bribe me inside the temple.
It is selling little cushions
for cold metal idols to rest.
It is selling brocade dresses
for Parvati lined with jari.
it is selling little cradles
for baby God to sleep in.
All for pious believers
to dress up their Gods
as if they are dolls.
Am I a doll to be adored?
Am I a doll to be played with?
Am I a doll and not a dangerous king
who will be angry if
not looked upon with awe?
Doll-god? God-doll?
Mere idolatry
of innocent faith?
I want to sleep in the baby-cradle.
I want to rest on on tiny cushions.
I want to live in that doll shop.
Queue is long with hundreds
waiting to see me:
praying to escape from sins,
praying to get easy money,
praying to resolve doubts.
Outside one shop is there
selling flowers and coconut
to bribe me inside the temple.
It is selling little cushions
for cold metal idols to rest.
It is selling brocade dresses
for Parvati lined with jari.
it is selling little cradles
for baby God to sleep in.
All for pious believers
to dress up their Gods
as if they are dolls.
Am I a doll to be adored?
Am I a doll to be played with?
Am I a doll and not a dangerous king
who will be angry if
not looked upon with awe?
Doll-god? God-doll?
Mere idolatry
of innocent faith?
I want to sleep in the baby-cradle.
I want to rest on on tiny cushions.
I want to live in that doll shop.
Comments
This poem is intense, and left me a little bewildered. Why is the last line so? Is it that God would rather frolic in the dollshop than bemoan the mind-state of His devotees in the temple?
Regards,
P