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A Fire Rises
Sri Lal
A Fire Rises
A fire rises in the pit of the gut—
and I forget myself.
At the grey langur’s door,
I give up. I cut my hair,
dance bare in the Bhadra rain.
Who am I?
I ask myself, again and again.
From the shadows of a mango grove,
two birds sing of sweet
and bitter fruit. Two fires rise—
Between lust and rage
there is no difference.
In the cowshed shrine burns
a fire of loss,
a fire of vow and surrender.
Fire is fire
to she who holds
no thought in mind but one
who rises from ash,
who sends forth
a holy river from his hair—
one I have known since before
I was a whisper on dark water.
Published in Doubly Mad
Copyright ©
Sri Lal
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