She Who Labours Here

Then shall we stand iron-willed for Life

Against the tides of time that on us rush

While death raps daily at the body's door,

Or to our human weaknesses succumb

And many lives' travail sum up to nought,

Or call a higher power in the cells,

A flame to light the darkened cave of mind

And calm's descent into the frantic pace

Of impulses, antagonists of peace

That move our arms to slay, our hearts to hate

And boil the blood with insatiable desire

Or drown us in a torpor of malaise?

I have seen a power incarnate on earth,

Divinity put on the human form

Unblinded saw the living deity

Who wakes the consciousness to rightful birth,

The birth of truth, a dwelling place of light

Resident within the human breast

And the unexplored dimensions of the soul.

It is She and not ourselves who labours here

To fashion from the clay more perfect man,

Transport our lives beyond the temporal,

Who wraps the earth in fathomless arms of bliss,

Our seas, our skies, in spiritual fire.

First published in Mother India - March 2005