Dashavatara
Rama
I shoot my arrows at
the ten-headed demon
who has stolen you from me,
my Sita.
My army languishes in the long battle,
legions of dead on either side.
I shoot one last flaming arrow
straight into the demon’s heart.
He who wouldn’t die by the hand
of god or demon falls to me,
Lord Rama.
I fight to avenge the honor of my kingdom,
and you, Sita, are but a prize.
I loved you, but you are stained.
Go dream of the demon who
carried you off through the sky,
and held you close to his breast.
Go far from me
to live in shame.