I’m purging my shelves of books I haven’t touched in forever, and came across a book titled “Speaking of Siva” (Saivite is pertaining to Shiva/Siva), with South Indian poems of devotion.
Two:
The sacrificial lamb brought for the festival
ate up the green leaf brought for the decorations.
Not knowing a thing about the kill,
it wants only to fill up its belly:
born that day, to die that day.
But tell me:
did the killers survive,
O Lord of the meeting rivers?
And:
The crookedness of the serpent
is straight enough for the snake-hole.
The crookedness of the river
is straight enough for the sea.
And the crookedness of our Lord’s men
is straight enough for our Lord!