The Lamp In The Shrine , She Kept Aflame
(To give life and love, is the substance of a woman )
Every dawn, sprite in self, since her childhood
a midst white frost, run to a shrine she would.
Among the Himalayan folds it stood,
fed with virgin snow and made of thin wood.
Aflame ,a lamp she kept, under a hood
in that shrine so sacred , where all found food
for body and mind, old and young, lewd and rude,
weak and strong ,life and love, holy and good.
Never once since her day did the lamp brood,
fed it with substance of her own and brewed
She knew she should, as did other folks too,
lamp of love if gone , life, would be gone too.