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Divine Brahmin
Born of ancient, noble exultation.
A lotus among uncountable weeds.
Speaking the dwindling language
of a dying population.
Her blessings have been polluted
in the churn of Calcutta’s filthy streets.
Scorned for an unwavering quest for love,
where the exchange of rupees blacken hands.
A glorious heart resides within,
unyielding to societies chains.
Bars of confinement to her yearnings
still the demands of life’s passions.
In the silent, cool night she weeps,
for a world lost in loveless slavery.
Her heart victim to the masses.
A restless pillar fighting defiled conformity.
Justice has not found her bedpost.
Societies eyes cry not for the weak.
Deepening insomnia displaces all dreams.
The smothering hands of tradition imprison.
But a new path has opened.
Where love and compassion breed equality,
and caste crumbles upon fertile ground.
Shining a light on a new horizon.
May Krishna grant her the power.
To make the leap to higher ground.
Where unleashed love and passion
blossom in liberty’s eternal sunshine.
Copyright ©
Michael Wayne
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