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Prostration

- Oh! Lord.
Pardon me my omissions two
The one linked to my birth before
When my unbending legs never grew
Tired of their swollen self to its core
A deified 'I' of hauteur
Ruled me always from top to toe,
At all prostrations made me jeer,
At all litanies of falling a show -
What proof there is of my dereliction
In an earstwhile sheath of my clay
It is only this framed affliction.
The wages of sin is birth I say
Had I but bent I would not here stay
But be basking in your eternal ray
Now my undone error lights heaven's way
No more can I measure my length
In obeisance to your fulgent sight
I have your absolution at length
For my insolent act of slight
You have broken the wheel for me
Birthless in bliss my blessed state
That fervour of falling has ceased for me -
Forgive me my lord in such estate.

-By G. Viswanathan
From:
To our first granddaughter Pratibha and other poems

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Published on April 16th, 2005


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