I stand at the crossroads,
a stranger to this city
in ashes. Not one dome
or tower is left
to sing its praises.
With my husband I entered
the city through the East Gate:
I now leave
by the West Gate, alone.
People follow me:
they touch the hem of my robe,
call me a goddess.
But I am only a woman.
Till the wrath
that burns in me is appeased,
I will not hold
my husband in my arms.
True, I am victorious:
my rage brought the fire
of heaven down
on the king’s head,
scorched his city
like straw in the wind.
My life was over
even before it began.
I have only my karma to blame
for my wretchedness.
With Kovalan gone,
the sword of widowhood
bleeds me to death.
I walk on air.
To whom shall I turn now,
where shall I go?
Who is there to comfort me
in my grief?
When was it last that Kovalan
held me in his arms,
plunged his face
in the pool of my breasts?
My skin has not forgotten
the length of his body.
Even now my blood rushes
to spend itself
on the farthest rocks of the night
leaving behind a trail of foam.
