Born between the syllables of Godlore,
eternity holds my breath
and suspends my being into
all dimensions in an Earth second.
I’m cradled in the lap
of the mother of all supreme forces,
who nurtures me
with both the valour of swords
that slayed the bravest of brave,
and the grace of smoke
rising from the funeral pyres
on the ghats of Varanasi.
Seasons and solstices are my teachers,
cherry trees blossom in my locks.
I play around with deer
basked in the perfume of
rare Petunia flowers.
I bathe in the angst of tumultuous existence
and turn it into a hymn of the Lord.
I evoke mystical spirits
that hail my name
wherever I leave my footprints
as I learn to walk.
The Moon is besotted with
my unrestrained absolution
and celebrates my breaths
by dancing every night to the rumble of
my thumping heartbeats.
And when I breathe dragon fire
and fume with the
currents of catastrophe,
kingdoms lose their armies
and turn into graveyards,
distant stars detonate
and mutilate the self-assured hubris of the Universe.
Frenzied into the youth of
a temporal mortality already,
I deny to step into the court of grey,
for I have myriads to explore,
for the mammoth hunger of my soul
must score all the otherworldly magic
to satiate itself.
And that requires lifetimes and lifetimes
measured in the units
tantamount to ages, not years.
May the Lord grant me ages,
or may he just bring me back to life
again and again,
until I enchant each cell of my body
with all the cosmic magic spells
discovered and yet to get discovered.
Shaurya Sharma 🕉
Cosmic Virtues 