A woman, a myth, a deity-
you chose to be a poet.
You sang of magic lore
of ancient times and unknown lands…
the listless strife of womankind-
trudging through the soulless drudgery
of mundane pursuits, slavish concubinage-
cankering the soul, festering the mind.
A rebel, possessed of a unique power-
to silenced utterances, scattered in the wind,
you gave a voice…
rekindled again their hopes—lost so long ago.
They killed you into art…a token woman
an idol, merely, of their designs
yet, rising, phoenix like, you uttered
that supreme truth-‘Soham'-
I am she
the almighty
universal, supreme, pure
the one and only being
face to face, immanent.
I Am, even I.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem