Decluttering My Weapons

As the night arrives

I start stripping

Layer by Layer

While the city sleeps,

The mandir smells of,

Flowers, attar & soot-

Makes me nauseous.

First, I strip my weapons

Sword, trident, mace with other few

I have eight hands,

None of them for me.

Removing the flower garland next,

Smells nice but bugs bite me

I will keep one lotus for my hair

Now, this jewelry

Tangles with my hair

Gave me marks all around my neck

Bangles, then crown

I keep everything down

They pray to me for wealth,

Never knowing I would rather be them

The saree is pretty

But makes me itchy in summer

I would like a cotton one with polka dots.

I wash myself off next,

Dousing in vermilion

It seems like I am bleeding,

Bleeding away my Goddessness.

I dry myself under the fan

Braid my hair,

Put a lotus behind my ear

I wear a white saree,

My favorite color.

I put on nude lipstick,

And blue eyeshadow.

I see myself in the mirror,

This is so much better.

I walk out of the temple,

No one bats an eye

I don’t look or smell like a Goddess

One told me,

“Come at 7 AM, mandir is closed now”

I smile.

I would like to go to a café,

Window shopping maybe?

Eat something savory,

All devotees offer me sweets.

I stop a rickshaw,

To take me to a market nearby

He agrees at 100 rupees.

AUTHOR BIO