A Song for Saraswati

Ablutions sacred and sanctifying I seek, sensational Saraswati

Born far from your home, accustomed to deities strange and new am I

Consider my plight, font of eloquence, oceanic mind;

Deliver me from the crude cacophony of contemporary culture

Elevate my tastes and sensibilities with your patient and wise tutelage

For eloquence, style, wit and wisdom I humbly pray to thee, deeper than any sea

Grant me perspicacity and the poetic prowess required properly to pay you homage

Have mercy upon my frail, fallible, fumbling tongue

Infuse your ageless and eternal splendor into this tarnished, cracked vessel

Join me with your holy veena, permit me to play along with your sacred songs

Knowledge you certainly possess, profound and potent; permit me a sip from your pure well

Look beyond my foreign folly and pity a poor poet who loves and admires you and your prowess

Music is made with your blessing; myths materialize beneath your beatific smile

Nothing artful, sublime or beautiful is made without your nod

Over children learning to read and aged authors writing for the last time, you preside

Praise and thanks I humbly offer you, gorgeous goddess of the golden tongue

Quests for inspiration end only in desperation and futile perspiration without your guidance

Rest assured, my plea is not for wealth or fame, but for the chance to make new what has grown stale

Stories told many times need retelling in fresh and vivacious forms

Tales never told, alien and unfamiliar as the surface of the moon which swoons as you smile

Under your influence assume forms intelligible and inspired; allow me to be your faithful helpmate

Verily, you are the one who possesses water, clean and clear and purifying, conqueror of thirst

Water that can dwell anywhere, patiently powder mountains or turn deserts into fragrant gardens

Xylophones sing your name when struck; indeed, every note is a stylish synonym for your sacred name

You are the mother of all language, the guardian of all wisdom, the lover of lyricists and patron of poets

Zithers, their strings drawn taught, ache to be plucked, the better to sing thy name, Saraswati, divine!