Weep of the Oboe (UG)
Created | Updated Jul 29, 2011
Tonight,
when the Mariamman1 flame flickers,
from the aging aalamaram's2 sigh,
Bring me your unspoken promises,
Maragadham3.
For we shall dance like the bell
and its tether,
to the tune of the wind whistles.
And if the temple flame eventually dies,
Maragatham,
our passions will ignite crimson
the rim of the sky.
Tonight,
when I place the
kumkumam4 on your forehead,
black-red will infuse
into my cold, grey ashes,
that have settled
over five rocks in a stream
divided by Shiva's tresses.