You are breaking down,
Sobbing and sighing,
The teardrops trickling down the cheeks,
Is this called Love?
To love and to dump elsewhere?
Love, but abandon you not,
Love, love you, but betray you not.
My God, how to make her understand
The poor and simple heart,
How to console her,
The broken self of hers,
A heart so sick and ailing
And love-lorn?
A simple daughter
In the hands of mine
And the tears splashing over the arms,
A self so hurt and wounded,
How to give solace to her?
The Myth of The Dark Daughter The pains of the dark daughter, The troubles and tribulations of hers None has come to comprehend, None has What it marauds Her poor and humble self, A daughter of the land Hardworking To make an earning, Having remained unfed and unclothed, Feeding her brother first Then talking the left-overs, Helping her mother, Yet to go to other man's house.
A daughter a daughter, May be it she is dark, Dark is dark, Let it be, What it was, what it is And what it will continue to hold onto, dark will remain dark, The mystery of it unveiled And unravelling, The myth of the Dark Creation, The Womb of all, Dark is dark, Let her be, As Kali is dark.
A terracotta figurine or a sculpture In love or bonding, Devotion and dedication, Standing in Faith and doubt, Basking in sun and shower Is she the poor girl, The poor but loving And affectionate daughter of the land, May be she a devadasi Betrayed in the name of holy religion, May she a sevadasi Exploited by the sadhus and others Or a nautch girl Repenting during the old age When broke it loose the ghungharoo And scattered on Or lost she the lustre of To turn into a replica.
