Unwilling priestess in thy cruel fane,
Long hast thou held me, pitiless god of Pain,
Bound to thy worship by reluctant vows,
My tired breast girt with suffering, and my brows
Anointed with perpetual weariness.
Long have I borne thy service, through the stress
Of rigorous years, sad days and slumberless nights,
Performing thine inexorable rites.
For thy dark altars, balm nor milk nor rice,
But mine own soul thou'st ta'en for sacrifice:
All the rich honey of my youth's desire,
And all the sweet oils from my crushed life drawn,
And all my flower-like dreams and gem-like fire
Of hopes up-leaping like the light of dawn.
I have no more to give, all that was mine
Is laid, a wrested tribute, at thy shrine;
Let me depart, for my whole soul is wrung,
And all my cheerless orisons are sung;
Let me depart, with faint limbs let me creep
To some dim shade and sink me down to sleep.
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From guest prachi chhabra (contact)
a fantastic poem. no words to describe it. the pain of the author would have reached to the god. -
beautiful
it is beautiful, can b interprated in so many ways -
A poem to read several times. The pain is so evident, the conversation between her god is direct. Lines 15-20 just enrapture me.
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I find this poem to be a prayer of sorts to the faith that the author has believed in her entire life. It seems she is saddened and tired of holding with all of the rituals and rites and needs a rest or a need for death. I find this to be very deep and I could possibly could take away with me several different meanings. (a little hard to understand for me)
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