When I close my eyes;
There is only one person
Who appears before me.
A sublime goddess
Whom I never saw;
But was born
From my creativity.
Her round eyes;
Brimming with tears they were;
Every time she gazed at me.
For she was my mother;
The lady who abandoned me.
On a pedestal I placed her;
Worshipping her; I forgave;
Believing her to be out of options;
As she let go of me.
Beautiful she was;
With the kindest of smiles;
She pulled me closed and embraced.
Falling to my knees, I cherished her tears
As they descended upon me.
All I could do;
Was admire her;
With the eyes of a small child;
Bathed in the cascade of love.
“Oh, how hallowed I have been!”
Thought I, blissful and fortunate.
But alas, that was never to be.
For she was but a figment of my imagination.
Just a pipe dream.
Was she the daughter of a king;
A princess, high-born?
Is she still alive;
Desperately searching for me?
Never bestowed with the well-earned praise;
That I was due;
In the wake of that which is valued;
As something as trifling as ancestry;
The adoration of my deified mother
Was my only solace and retreat.
Is it so wrong to dream;
That my heart was to be ripped cruelly asunder
By those bearing a selfish and black desire?
O Madhusudan, why tear apart my image;
Merely to satisfy your aim?
O Queen Dowager Kunti, why let the pedestal crumble;
Simply to ensure your ambition?
O Grandsire Bheeshma, why destroy my illusion;
Purely to give me an earful?
Was it fun;
Was it enjoyable;
To deface the goddess?
To ruin my fantasy?
To ravage my hallucination?
To devastate this wishful thinking of mine?
O World, O Society, O Destiny;
How amusing it must have been;
To prey on me when I was so very weak;
Over and over and over again!
The woman who birthed this wretched one;
Is more beautiful than the deity;
She who occupied the canvas of my reverie.
But warm her eyes are not;
For artful she is.
Callous and stony;
My frigid quintessence she failed to thaw.
As a steely soul clashed with an unyielding psyche;
Won the more resolute of the two;
And war was averted not;
Spurting blood like a fountain.
Oh, but how laughably silly have I been!
That exalted goddess
Was none but Radha;
My loving surrogate mother;
She who hesitated not
To shower mercy and affection
On a helpless bairn;
Drifting along a creek;
Defenceless and feeble.
Radheya I am;
Radheya I shall be;
For I reject the denomination of Kaunteya;
The name that was discarded;
Along with me.
~ Dibyasree Nandy