Mahishasura
Sonnet 169
When young, one year, I saw the Demon dying,
As the Trident of the goddess Durga
Into his stoney body deeply piercing:
An art the 'medha' play'd on Dussehra
Though, my tiny heart was cheery with
Loads of relief the Devil's at last dead
And gone were threats on life! But came the myth
Next year, to find; as raised the Brute his head
To fight the Goddess and to die again --
The repeat that happens every year,
Just for few days to falsely entertain
The people's soul engulfed in inbred fear,
For the Brute ain't dead behind the art,
In our brutish mind and brutish heart.
©️ N P Samal
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