Poetry

Savitri

I’m not your humble Satrayan,

Pure radiant Savitri;

I’m not the exiled king’s kind son,

Your pilgrimage did not reach me.

 

I’m not the generous “Son of Truth”,

For whom you fast and pray;

My fevered brow you will not soothe,

When comes the fateful day.

 

My head does not rest in your lap,

You are not wracked by pity,

For though I plucked you Dragon Snap,

You did not venture with me.

 

You did not brave sharp thorns and briar,

Blind with love and tears,

Nor battle gods, eyes bright with fire,

Wit lucid as a spear.

 

I’m not the exiled king’s kind son,

Your pilgrimage did not reach me;

I’m not your humble Satrayan,

Pure radiant Savitri.

 

                                                           ~ Stephen Lang

                                                                  El Salvador

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