Yours

 I hold up to Thee, in my palms, 

My molten Heart. 

Make it

An icicle gleaming in Your 

Morning rays on the Mount Kailasa

Or

The last drop of sap

In the falling winter leaf. 

Turn it into a tiny sand grain

Clinging to Your soft lotus feet

Or

That wild flower in Your beloved's hair. 

Shower it as a drop of Rain

On the parched lips of Chataka*

Or

A tear of ecstacy trickling

From my Master's eyes. 

Or anything 

Or nothing 

so to say

The molten Heart and the hands holding

And this one, Thou may. 

*Rain Catcher bird