Hungry Gods

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Hungry Gods

Sonnet — Daily Poetry to The Master of Works #5

Hard is the day when the altars go empty,
No bright flame lights up Thy seated visage,
Nor flowers and incense to offer in plenty,
With paltry offerings I must Thee assuage.

The fire-seats of sacrifice, the yagña’s ground
Burned feebly by half-remembered murmur
Of chants that once to the skies did resound 
But now must whimper near feeble ember.

Like a tired mother bird I come to my nest
To the waiting mouths of my baby flames,
All the assiduous searching couldn’t wrest
For famished aspirations nourishing deeds.

Huddle near, O ye hungry gods,
Tonight I shall sate your hungers with tears.