The Worshipper Poem by Jayeeta Shamsul

The worshipper:

By Jayeeta Shamsul

The Ganges is celestial
To it everything is superficial
It turned me truly spiritual
I've learnt all the rituals.
Holy river gave me a treat
My every nerve waits for a fete!
She is my richness
She is my Ganges
She is my voice
She is my vice
I am her biased dice
I am her apprentice!
I am a fake priest
I only love my mistress
I give fire oblations to the river
I pronounce hymns for her
My world spins around her.
I perform "Ganga arti"
I am a young priest
Mother Ganges cleanses my vice
If loving her is vice
I will be victim.
I am her Shiva
She is my Sati
All my efforts end at her feet.
I'd met her in a sweets shop
She had taken me to her flock
They are a group of singers and dancers,
She is like an oozing river.
The small lamps float on the Ganges,
I talk whole night to my mistress
Mother Ganga is a great unifier
I have sold my soul to Haridwar.
I've bathed in her holy water
And now I am a happy tumbler
That girl taught me to blow conches
In my mind she always dances.
We got intimate in an old temple
I missed her amid flowy ripples
Her presence gives me drizzles
Her every tough breaks my happiness nozzle
I wish to treat her with vermilion and sandal
I wish to give her every splendor
She will ease away all my worries
She will erase my tears
She is my love, eternal!
She is my wild flower
I am her wacky worshipper
To her, I am always a traveler! !