Sunday, November 29, 2009
The Goddess (poem)
The Goddess
They found me
early, declared me
divine,
someone descended
from the gods,
now a goddess in their midst.
True, as a child,
I had special gifts—
could predict
the coming of
the monsoons,
when to beware of drought,
how to ward off plague.
People from other villages
heard of me,
began to come
for healings.
I touched their brows
and they were cured,
gave them words to say.
As I grew,
the festivals took note,
carried me aloft
in my palanquin,
clothed me in jewels
and silk.
Now the throngs pressed close,
eager to touch
my feet,
my dress,
seeking the blessing
of the god.
Years passed,
and still I
did not speak
before the many,
but sat silent,
eyes half closed,
allowing the dream
to unfold
around me
as the crowds pleaded
and surged.
Then I grew old,
each day awakened
by loving handmaids,
gently dressed,
fed special foods
by faithful followers.
All of this felt proper,
ordained
by my station,
who I was.
Yet alone
I sometimes wondered,
what if I had not found
the magic stone
that day
by the brook,
what if I had instead
married a village boy,
had his young,
gossiped at the stream
with the other wives
as we thrashed
our husbands' shirts
upon the rocks.
Dorothy Walters
November 29, 2009
(Image from http://www.exoticindiaart.com)
