Boudhayan Mukherjee

Boudhayan Mukherjee

I kneel down for yoga,chanting Om Arogyam

Wake up the hills, the fragrant words
For I shall chant from the Gita of Ma Sita
To please my deity . I will move towards
The Circle of Hope.At dusk Ma Sita sleeps
Poised at the feet of her forested Lord.  
My heart weeps to belong to Her. 
Her words keep me dim and happy, the flying Jatayu borne to earth by imagination. I can hear her talking about rice for migrant labourers, their lentil soup ,wheat broth , radish 
And roots when they return to Janakpur,
Her papa's kingdom,my own childhood home.
I'll keep a pinch of lost smell of home for me,
A steam of boiling rice to soothe my eyes.
I tell you this , a Brahmin--Dwija--born twice;
I tell you all ,that sadness is not divine. Rise!

Rise of Ram temple is over
 and the Lord has
Returned to Ayodhya as a child.
 Ma Sita will
Arrive , patience was her forte all life.
It failed at last and she drowned 
herself underground,
sans the jihad of women power.
Ma Sita to me is
 the best manna of Ramayana
Queen of Ayodhya living in exile 
alone like a single mother 
to bring up two lovely sons. 
 Did Lav Kush often pester her
 about their sire...
What did the forgotten woman
 say to the kids
Not much to lament,but gave them 
bows and arrows 
Of memory silenced 
by shame and disgrace.

We have millions of Ma Sitas in India 
They must go and rejoice when she returns.
When her glories are templed
 Next to the Ram-mandir.

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