Day 593 of the daily poems. There is something visceral and colourful about our poet Chrys Salt’s poem today, and about aspects of the Hindu religion that she describes. Chrys met the Goddess Durga when in India reading at The Kolkata book fair – which she says was quite an experience! Durga is a fierce and menacing female warrior with eight arms; her hands hold special weapons for her battle against the buffalo demon. The annual Durga Puja is one of the great festivals of northeastern India.
Durga’s temple
Barefoot, we slop through water,
fallen flowers and spit.
Durga, not made by man they say
but here of her own making
sits beneath a pillared canopy,
fierce eyed and garlanded.
Her temple is stained crimson,
tiered, elaborate.
Her warrior tiger,
crouches at her feet.
Gibbering monkeys scratch their bums,
preen, pick fleas,
trapeze on chains of holy bells.
There’s a mighty racket
of chatter, clatter, resonations,
gongs and bells.
Someone has strung some flowers
on a metal grid, left offerings
of sweets, ghee, plates of fruit,
dishes of cardamom, cloves, betel nut.
Pomegranate mouths gape ruby teeth.
Candles stir in terracotta dishes,
rituals their hearts pay homage to.
Not understood.
Outside a wedding car waits patiently,
suited and sari’ed devotees
queue on the pavement to leave shoes.
A black kite hovers hungrily
over a blanket laid with silver fish.
Everyone’s waiting here for something good.
Chrys Salt
from Chrys Salt’s collection The Punkawallah’s Rope,
Indigo Dreams Publishing 2017