Krishna is He
who charioteered
Arjuna to Dharma,
protected Draupadi’s honour
stole hearts and butter
of the Gopis,
taught Bhima to strike
at the enemy’s weakness,
all the while,
he gurgled the universe
in his soft baby mouth.

Krishna is He
whose name brought
blossoms to blush,
whose dark sensuality
created jealousy
to the smouldering
brilliant Sun-god,
whose tiny finger,
held up a huge mountain,
to shelter the poor
from the storms,
whose kindness carved
a bungalow for
his poverty-ridden
friend, Sudama.

Krishna is He
whose flute is played
to awaken our
dormant hearts,
to awaken sleeping
petals of our
lotus-hearts,
whose purity
is nothingness, yet complete,
like residues of
burnt camphor, leaving
no blemishes.