The Shrine She Lives Through

The fresh morning dew, on the flowers and grass,

She woke with dawn’s virgin ray falling on Sitar,

Praying and paying homage at first, she touched,

The sacred Sitar, her thin fingers danced on the wires,

Bursting the morning with it divine music, along her voice,

Her morning raga enchanting, echoing and chaste,

Flowed her lyrical tunes across and vast traveled they,


Sitting on the chariot of breezes, they took her voice,

Far and farther with each new day, and so does she,

Traveled in her mind and soul, to the shrines of love,

And those temples of ecstasy of Lord, two souls entwined,

Postures of erotic love, fiery passion blazed into the sun,

He touched her from the soul, and her voice became deep,

Her raga was touched again and again till she perspired,


Beneath her white cloth, droplets of sweat made her wet,

Bare body chaste, for them, but secretly touched by Lord,

She felt his hands moving on her; top to bottom she shivered,

Suddenly growing ecstatically insane, in love pure for her Lord,

Taking her out of this world, she needed no man’s feel,

Neither company of thy sons, to break her preserved chastity,


She lived and experienced more than as a human,

Her love so pious, yet erotic, she awoke the Lord,

From his shrines each dawn, and he did came in soul,

Drawn towards her divine music, and towards her female body,

They merged, embraced in space, only the universe knew,

This story of woman and God’s tabooed love, goddess’s in awe,

Felt jealous often, ah! What tale of immodest pious love,


Before the rays touched the virgin earth and birds awoke,

Their unison was over, myriad people came to worship,

Their lord in the temple, with garlands and incense sticks,

The deity stood soulless though, embraced in erotic love,

Ah! What power her music had, lord came into her abode,

She was a chaste in her human avatar, though not to Lord,

Her sitar played each day and morning, fingers danced magic,

What blissful love was, invisible for the world to see, be known,


The Sitar now covered with dust and morning dew still,

Sits on the flowers and grass, the Lord’s deity is standing,

Till now worshiped by many, still are they clandestine lovers,

She sings for her lover, heard only by him, soundless music in world,

They still make love unseen before, and ever, by man and woman,

They say and believe, she lives through the shrine; a pure devout,

She the woman sage of her time, with great respect now her Sitar

Rest besides the Lord, she is now his forever and they make love……………………………………….


*Monalisa Joshi*




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