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After the Avatar, 1945
A Sonnet for Savitri Devi on her 107th Birthday

117 words

Our holy sun shouldn’t shine anymore.
There is nothing left to grow beneath now.
All is gone, blasted, shot, burnt. All our pure
Beauty, our sure truths, lost. We endure. How
And why are beyond us, we simply live.
What else is there for us to do? We are
Not dead though all we love is dead. Forgive
Us for not rejoicing in the warm air,
For not embracing the light we once rose
To salute. It is too late for more dawns,
We do not care to see new days. Gallows
Dance before our eyes, while open graves yawn.
We half wish to hang and fall, to be done,
Buried . . . away from our traitorous sun.

 

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4 Comments

  1. Dan
    Posted October 2, 2012 at 9:42 pm | Permalink

    Sad and beautiful.
    However, Arya, the Aryan spirit, is alive still! There are those who wholeheartedly embrace her principles and glorify her lovingly.

  2. Hans Krug
    Posted October 1, 2012 at 6:16 pm | Permalink

    Wonderful. Thank you Juleigh!

  3. Dominion
    Posted October 1, 2012 at 2:11 am | Permalink

    Beautifully written. To be read in war-torn ruins.

  4. rhondda
    Posted September 30, 2012 at 11:51 pm | Permalink

    In Norse mythology, the sun is regarded as feminine.

    She has not gone out if she lives on in her books.

    One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. A quote by our pal Nietzsche.

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