You are mine, I need no certificate
Property papers or orders from the court
You stand there bejeweled
Even Your crown is of gold, it’s hard,
Tight rim, marking Your forehead
Yashoda used to kiss again and again
Before putting a U shaped tilak on it
Your hands so used to eliciting
Music from the flute, pleasure
From all the women of Vrindavan
Who also consider you their own,
More than lover, more than husband
Now holds a whip and the reins
Of Your cousin’s chariot in a war
It is not yet clear, Your father’s sister
Who cleverly made her sons share a wife
Was good at using emotion for her ends
Did You not see through her?
If Your wife Rukmini is by your side
So is Sathyabhama, did none
deserve alone time
With you, or were there too many
To divide time with each?
But You shared
In the raas – leela, that none of us
Had complaints
Though each of us sought exclusivity
In the green pastures
By the dancing Yamuna
You were mine, I held You in my arms
Your midnight skin was mine
Your locks tied up with the
Proud peacock’s tail was mine
Your yellow silk and all it hid was mine
The right to blow into Your flute
Was mine, though it squawked
In dire protests, till I understood
Its need to be Yours just Yours
The way the whole of Vrindavan
Was Yours just Yours
The gaudhooli our cattle raised
Was the cue for we women
To welcome You home for
An evening meal, well before
Our trysts in the forest
Who are those who guard you against miscreants
You, who could handle any demon
By Yourself , even in your childhood
Devotees are allowed in
As are the locals who threaded
You garlands, with wild flowers
And prayers, gave You a pat of
Fresh butter on leaves
And thought of You as theirs
The priest does not know those
Nicknames of Yours we made up
As we lived with You, loved You
Man Mohan! Who can know
Who can not know
The right to own You
Came only with love for You! — Lakshmi Bayi