I just see the sculptures, figurines,
Yoginis depicted, carved on the walls
Of the Yogini temple of Hirapur,
The dark semi-divine beings
Mortal not, but supernatural,
How to take them to define
What their names,
How their identity,
Who they are!
Cut and chiselled from stone blocks,
Carved out and chiselled upon
The old walls of the roofless temple
Of the tantric sect
With the dark black yoginis
Decorating the walls
With some of the sculptures
Lying half-damaged,
Btu there is none to renovate and resurrect.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem