We look up, and see Shiva.
In this form, he looks different.
He is cherubic. With fatty thighs.
A belly, unrestrained. Full of milk.
And what bulges like pure butter.
(Perhaps they wanted Krishna?)
What would a child destroy?
Small things. Irrelevant things.
Broken easily. Available in plenty.
Like little glass tumblers. Or
nibs of ink pens. And random
nameless hearts, already fragile.
Wow! The way you’ve captured the plight of some..Very moving!
PS:
Thanks for posting such a rare baby pic of Shiva. Never seen anything like this before.
I’ve seen this painting before, but never thought of Him in His destroyer roop, looking like that.
Amazing!
your observations and even more so your thoughts on the smaller things in life is quite beautiful…
and as if it were already not good enough you can actually make poems out of them !
Intriguing pose, that.
Interesting prose, that.
Wonderful!
Beautifully said. Loved every word and found myself getting envious of your talent.
Lovely! How you put wordless feelings into words!
Simply beautiful
And what bulges like pure butter.
Great line. Never seen bulging butter but I *know* it bulges.
Nice words.
write more..Im waiting
I thought they might have been inspired by Murugan but Krishna sounds more right.
Lovely poem, btw.
Goodness. Beautiful. In more ways than one.
Loved the picture, and the context.