Nupur Chaturvedi

Dragged to the temple of greed
She was, by her hair,
For sacrifice at the altar of avarice.

The drums roll, the chant
Reached a crescendo—
Mother! Goddess! Force!

The brahmins clang the cymbals,
And mutter under their breath—
Minion! Mistress! Whore!

From a distance, I watched
My tongue, struggling with words,
Gives up, tied in several knots.

I am too weak, too small.
She looks up, and through the crowd
Her eyes bore through me.

Angry, disappointed eyes,
Pleading, protesting, etching her pain
On my skin. I have to go.

I have to go now, and free her,
Break her chains, so she can
Breathe life into me again…