Durga

In the hush—footsteps fill the laden streets, 
grasshoppers teeth to return home. Veiled divine mother, 
she blooms in shards—from under the rain
from beyond the sallow moon
in her lion's gait… tidal sorrow pushing through 
your swallowing metropolitan heap. 
a residue, an imprint, 
Something true lost in process, something found within;
a fractured, ceramic deity doll recoils, 
her hurt spreads thin. Into a 
a trident
a discus
a conch, a spear. 
Steed beneath her chariot of flesh
her raven locks soar in black air;
This is a mounting vision in the heath
smudged clean 
by her long, cascading armour-limbs.
in the trail of mist she devours—a thousand feline shadows
march in cold respite. this is a sacred call to the earth:
she asks you to take notice, 
to remember the bare joy of becoming
to relent 
in your raw, pulsing armour. 

Snata Basu is a writer based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her poetry has appeared on numerous literary platforms including The Opiate, Visual Verse: An Online Anthology of Art and Words, and Small World City.