Poem: A Riddle of Curses

yama

I am not an eater of flesh –

I am a devourer of symbols –

I do not speak with words –

Only eloquent growls

 

I am the wielder of the serpent power –

The spewer of curses – the utterer of malice,

Look at my Caduceus – the serpent on the cross,

I am as cruel as winter – as merciless as a fist

Of ice

 

This is my harem: though I am crowned with

Buffalo head, tapering horns to pinion the sky,

A bloodshot third eye, envenoming a perspective

That milks every murder; though my body is

Burden upon all dimensions – though my breath

Reeks of carrion, and my every word dredges up

Bile from the lungs of the deep – still, I have my

Harem – still my courtly beauties take off their

Skins at my bequest, and dance in harried motions,

Frigging themselves against the pelts of tigers –

Singing songs – beating drums – trouncing skulls –

Blowing the conch

 

To be held in contempt by me is to be accursed

With the greatest of praise:

My blessings are curses – my curses – blessings

And, with this fist of ice, I do now declare you

Accursed; and with this heart of fire, I do now declare you

Blessed

 

 

 

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