Our Hinduism

Is pure fantasy—stories, costumes, wars.
Shiva sat on tiger skins in meditation for millennia;
wife Parvati simpered as she prayed.
Against the back wall of our temple,
lit with floodlights, they radiated
a huge aura of OBEY THY PARENTS.
We offered raisins and rock candy;
I guess they had a sweet tooth.
Their marble skin was always cold,
they never performed miracles,
and when I put my hands together
and bent down, pranaama, pranaama,
I just wanted so much more.

— Minal Hajratwala, author of Bountiful Instructions for Enlightenment

T. S. Poetry

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