Bhishma in a moment of self pity


That’s what they will call my life

When reading from scrolls to hapless men

Who must learn of ancient history

To understand now.


But I loved every moment

Of my fingers on Amba’s waist

And Ambalika’s as I dragged them

To their destiny.

Why not?


I was dragged by my roving father,

The hunter who hunted his wives,

I learnt from him- he was entangled.

I the scion, always the scion.

Even when I had a chance

With my brother’s wives,

I didn’t need left overs.

I gave them to a sage

And he wrote a story.


I was mute in  court

When Draupadi was immortalized.

See Vyasa and I had a pact

And stories need humiliation,

The spice of life.

We knew this back then

Even before celluloid.


We knew, both of us,

the scion and the sage

About the rape scene

And how it lingers

In innocent minds

Interested in a good thrill.


I lived a long time

And you can pity me

If you think fit,

But I held out in Hastinapur

Amongst these egotistical princes.


I met Krishna

The cleanser of all worlds,

I knew what he was doing,

The man with the sky and the earth

In his feather.


I was lucky enough to visit you my lord.

They denigrate you now.

They call you a playboy,

They say you forced Arjuna to fight.

Didn’t we all know that while Vyasa wrote

You called the shots? The world had to end,

You maker of leelas.


I was always on the right side of wrong,

The coin flips,

Things change,

All lives stories.

Posted in: Mythical

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