We feel let
down goddess Zeystha
as our roles reverse
and it is our turn
to protect you
and thwart wanton designs
of idol lifters and iconoclasts
on the prowl in our land.
We build you a cage
and have to make do
with a latticed darshana as the iron bars
criss-cross your visage
in the rising sunís rays.
But that seems to us
a half measure at best,
as the zealots seek other ways
to carry you away,
and we move you to a safer place
of an iron vault in a sealed room
with security on guard!
Yet the fear lurks in our minds
of the guards turning conspirators
and joining hands
with the abductors.
Is there a way out of this distress,
except for you to become un-manifest
and repair to the bosom of this spring,
(from where, aeons back
you didst rise to rule our hearts)
and bide your time to reincarnate
till we settle scores,
in this accursed valley of ours?