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Natarajas

Seated afoot on forgotten tome
He does now rest, his weary aloof foot
Elevated He is, but not fully gone
with Hand of peace, he does beckon
to the enlightenment of modernity
A machine to some, a body to others
yet a subtle mind, divided in two
with double single cores
His face does spin
With his Arms he holds the Human Flame
with with his Arms he now beats the OM of the verse
To the sound and pleasure of all
yet scathing to some, He cares not
For he dances to his beat
be it machine, or drum of skin
or Love of Hearth
Above him, lies the Cosmos
His space, and his domain
which none may enter
say but for a few lines
and verses.
Natarajas
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September 19, 2012
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