Mighty Brahma, lord of powers!
All things issue from Thy semen,
So from whom all justice flowers!
Did you only make the Brahmin,
Kshatriya, and merchant peer,
Were they only from thy shaping,
Or did you permit an apeling,
To become no less than we are?
Nobleness—we cannot claim it:
Wickedness is ours, a dying
—That dark word that others name it—
Is our species’ multiplying.
This though true for our despisers
Should by you be held unholy:
That you can upbraid us, truly
All the greater should you prize us.
Hearing, Lord, my lowly prayer,
Bless me, as your child so find me,
Or let something come to flower
That to you would ever bind me!
For you’ve raised a very goddess
From among the temple dancers,
And we, praising such your answers,
This great wonder joy to witness.
probably 1823