Incarnation Poem by Sudam Panigrahi

For the eighth
seven banged onto killer stone.
For one killer
You left Baikunth.

Many dies in wombs,
what's your number
Eighth or eight billion?

Come soon,
Many Draupadis
are being paraded naked
by Dushashanas
as Duryodhana guffaws
at their helplessness.

When the wait will be over,
all rivers are in spate,
Devaki and Vasudev
are still in their shackles.

Won't you come,
Oh flute bearer,
Peacock feather lover,
Radha's Lover
and sixteen thousands
Gopis crush?