Error

Wrinkles on the brow
mark the enchanted paths—
those that strayed
through countless errors,
etched now
in the layers of age.
 
The shadow-path walks alone,
while bodies fell
upon the roads of illusion,
amid the revelry of gods.
The severed head of a sacrificial goat,
its glassy eyes clear as truth,
prepares the stage of life,
directs the course of tomorrow.
 
Venus still shapes
white coral, or pearls—
yet false dreams
lead astray into mirage.
The furrows of fate shall one day
claim their honor.
 
Look straight into the eye,
lift the finger, ask:
does light, does strength still dwell
on this earth of blessings and lust?
 
If night rains,
dawn shall be clear.
In the land of scandals and peril
someday Abhimanyu shall rise—
but step slowly,
from front to back,
for the chakravyuh awaits
on every side.