Spirals, not Circles

I dream of a world
beyond stifling circles,
and heads stuck in
outdated tracks,
energies held close
in black and white
time and space.

I dream of a world
where we can
sit and speak,
listen and move,
in spirals;
where eyes and hearts
can dance at will,
through spaces
in their togetherness,
through order
in the randomness,

shifting footprints
that challenge
indelible grooves,
moving off
into the distance,
into an adventure
of becoming
and dissolving,

into untamed dreams -
the curls of incense,
the daunting vortex,
the sleeping helix
in our countless cells
waking up to an orgasm
that never ends,
and this journey
of spiraling
into the infinitesimal
through infinite
unknown steps.

The Ground of our Dreams

and the tree
said to the leaf -
"I let you go,
for you belong
not to me,
but to the wind
who makes you dance,
to the sun
who laughs with you,
to the moon
who tickles you
with her magic wand,
to the rain
who softens your fall,
to the earth
who gathers you
anytime, into her
wide open arms,
and so go,
without a turn
of your sprightly face,
as I watch you
weave your blessed path
across worlds,
into the ground
of our dreams -
those we hold
close to our hearts;
for our dreams
are not
castles built in clouds,
they are the seeds
planted
in the core of our being,
they are the roots
that give us wings
to rise and fall
all over again."

An Ocean in a Drop

a little heart thrums
a soulful song -
of a love
not received,
an ocean
contained
in a drop.

softly pulsing,
an unspeakable joy,
a singeing pain,
flushing
every cell,
holding lives
of a thousand dreams
and worlds
untouched,
unborn
still

a lump of clay
moistened
with a drop
of the ocean,
waits
for gentle hands,
for thoughts with wings,
for the first rain
of the season,
for the sloshing
and squishing
of happy feet
lingering
screaming
dancing
and a necessary
washing away
of unlived dreams.

A Cup of Tea

a cup of tea
waits,
lingering
in the special quiet
of a morning sun,
inviting curls
of warmth
speak
to parched lips

growing silent,
steeped
in the mystery
of blue,
languid strokes
of December
upon cheeks

and the slow
passionate
darkening
of a cup of tea.

yes, I buried her alive

she tormented me
in the dark of the night,
she mocked at me
hiding behind the stars
in the light of day,
she envied me
in the silence
between all things,
she spied on me
like a mother
possessing her child,
and so I killed her.
yes, I buried her alive.

yes, I buried her
in broad daylight,
under the open sky,
with the blazing sun,
the quiet moon
and the distant stars
looking over us
as I dug her grave;

yes, I buried her alive,
as she shrieked and kicked
and rolled and flailed
her arms, her legs,
her hands and her ghastly face,
I watched her slip into
the quickening earth,
eyes rolling, open wide
like never before,
as she looked at herself,
at last,
even as she looked out
one last time,
into the world;

gasps for breath,
screams of terror and hate,
faded into the silence
of the ground
upon which I stood,
and I looked on
as the mud
that blinded her eyes
moistened
before they swallowed
the darkness
she had refused to see.

and then,
when all was done,
and the voices grew faint
and then quiet
inside my head,
I bowed down
to the contours
of the womb
we shared,
saying a prayer,
and giving thanks
for her life in mine,
taking her name.

and as I sat down
to take a fistful
of that sacred earth,
and hold it against my chest,
I said what I could not say to her
when she was alive,
and I knew
that she would return
someday
from that very ground,
to stand face to face
as equals in this game,
and call me
by my blessed name.

yes, that's why I buried her alive.

Invisible

I love the time of day
when I'm alone,
when time overflows
from the silence
of immovable walls,
into everything
that's not me
and me,

when I can become
invisible
and wander aimlessly
to the doorway
between two shades of blue,

when I can perch atop
a lingering cloud
and look at the world
and scream out loud,

when I can rest
for as long as I like
upon the wings
of a bird
moving effortlessly
between worlds it doesn't own,

when I can float upon
and jump from ripple to ripple
in any direction
and still flow on,

when I can come back
and sit upon the banks
in the motionless sand
and snuggle close
to the dancing sheaves of grass,

until I want to move
as me
into a formless world
that gives me form.

Hungry for Life!

you know that feeling
when you wake up
some mornings,
with an empty mind
looking into
an empty sky
impossible to be contained
by a line of blue?
yes, that's how
I want to wake up
to every moment,
hungry
for life!

A Prayer for You

you asked me
to pray for you

and so I looked
into myself
to notice
a soft, steady trickle
of clear water
like a mountain spring

growing,
changing,
listening
all the while
to the trees,
the sky,
the birdsong,
the pebbles,
the crickets,
and the clarion call
of a faraway ocean

and then flowing out,
awakened
to the silence
resting deep
within
words,
this world,
this womb,
the arrival
of a new you
and me
I cannot see,
and a voice
that can finally speak.
a prayer for you.

Hungry Mouths

every time I speak
I feed
or starve
hungry mouths.
mouths within
and without,
gaping holes
waiting
to be appeased
to be filled
with something,
anything,
everything.
not nothing.
and so I learn
how to be
a mother,
to feed
hungry mouths
enough,
just enough,
so we can all listen,
talk and eat.

Walk on

sometimes,
like today,
I walk like a ghost,
thorns sticking out
from every pore on my skin;
and I walk on
through an emptiness
washing over me
like a gust of wind
that I cannot escape
or still with my measly form,
I can only walk on
feeling it shake those thorns
stinging every cell,
and eating into the flesh,
right to the core,
where a heart thrums
not knowing what to do,
but simply walk on.

Into and Beyond the Light

today
i want to light
one little lamp
in the quiet
of my temple.

not for visitors
to come in
and take a peek
and marvel
at the darkness
and light,
to take them
to that same void
where I've been sucked in
many a time,

today
i want to light
one little lamp
just for myself,
not to feel safe,
or trump evil eyes,
or hope to save the world
with the light,

today
i want to light
one little lamp
just for myself.

i want to feel
the heat rise and engulf
my parched skin,
i want to feel
every wrinkle and scar
light up and burn,
i want to feel
the heat get to me
in the closeness,
i want to feel
the urge to get up
and walk away,
to do something,
anything,

and then
in that threshold
of one inflamed silence,
i want to feel the flame
flicker and grow
and die
in the stillness
of my temple

and feel the desire
to light it
and not light it
again.

today,
i want to light
one little lamp,
just for myself,
in the quiet
of my temple.

Lotus

I feel you
in the depths
of my womb,
a stirring of new life,
soft contours of mud
dissolving into water,
bubbles rising up
and popping,
before they reach
the skin
of upturned green palms
holding the immensity
of the sky
in their bosom,
ripples leaving
without returning home,
as fire sits with fire,
burning away the dross,
and somewhere
in those murky silent depths,
a lotus blooms quietly,
turned on by her solitude,
parting her folds
with the gentlest touch
of the first morning sun.

North Star

when you can walk
that road alone,
that road
which is the edge
of many worlds,
morphing
into each other,
not two or three

where you walk
as if on water,
between
needing me
and yourself
and the world

when you walk there,
where you find yourself
lost
without a map
that's charted
by a hysteria
to get somewhere and fast,

then,
and only then,
call out to me,
and I will be there
with you,
as you proceed
to walk that road
alone.

Diversity

I dream of those times
when you and I
can exchange
our differences
like clothes,
wear them
like our smiles,
let them go
like our tears
and laughter,
touch them gently
like a hand shake,
hold them together
in a hug,
and look at each other
in our 'different' clothes
like friends
together,
yet a-part.

Skin

breathing
between
worlds
of form
and the formless,
living
the essence
of both
in a touch
a kiss
a wrinkle
a bruise
a scar
and a depth
now lost
in the overwhelm
of a death
and a life
waiting
in the wings.

Fish Out of Water

between
sky
and
water
is a place
I like to be

fringes
are spaces
between
impending struggle
and tarried freedom,

a tight-rope dance,
where a fish
learns to be
not a fish
out of water,
but a bird with gills
who can surf and dive
into sky and sea.

What do I want?

'what do I want?'
I ask myself,
eyes perched
upon a horizon
which somehow retains
a caged sameness
everyday

surfaces and edges
that clamor tirelessly
to camouflage the aliveness
that draws me in,
an invitation
to stand
on the sacred stage,
where life meets life
naked
all the time,

where what I feel
sets aflame
my insides,
stoking something
unknowable
unspeakable
to foreign eyes,
and a white hot desire
to live
and die to
the adventure
that is,
this one life.

A Living Frontier

at the cusp
of something
I can feel
in my bones,
is it a living frontier
of a becoming
and a dying?
or a simple feeling
of what is, and
what could be?

I wake up quivering,
and let the vastness
and depths
of the firmament
pierce my eyes,
its feelers sinking
into my tender pores,
groping with tentacles
into the void
within, and
touching everything
with a gentle presence,

ah! how it makes me
come alive
to everything
within and without -
one feeding
and digesting
the other,
all the time,
exchanging
secret recipes

what it takes
to make
a stone,
a snowflake,
a seashell,
a leaf,
a bird,
a critter,
a flower,
the darkness,
a smile,
a loss,

and,
a human teardrop
poised
on the edge
of a flood
just waiting to happen.

Loving My Body - The Journey Within - Part 2 - Nude

We were at a small sea-side town called Borgarnes in Iceland. We had been told about the geothermal pools there that we should go to. We were all excited, but I was filled with fear as well, although I had promised my son that I would give it a try. I have never been in a large pool before.

I have this extreme fear of being in large expanses of water. I love the sea, the rivers, ponds, waterfalls, etc. But I am equally terrified of them. Yes, I feel terror and the beauty in each. Equally. I have shared this great fear of mine with my son, who has always listened and gently nudged me in his own ways to step into those fears by simply trying. Something that I have not been able to do. But this time, there was some shift which happened within me during the retreat that I was in in Romania. At least that is what I think. And there was this urge to give it a shot....to simply try.

My friend had told us before the trip, how the most 'Icelandic' thing to do was to drive around and keep dipping into the geothermal pools along the way :). I had smiled to myself when she told me this, telling her how I didn't think I would ever do that. 'You must', she said and we left it at that. Some unconscious part of me must have been at work while we packed for the trip, because I packed an ancient swim suit that my dear son and husband had made me buy on a holiday, just to get into a private jacuzzi. That was the largest expanse of water I had been in and just once!

So yeah, we were at Borgarnes, at the place where the pool was. We paid the money and were given 'strict' instructions on what to do. Raghav and my husband went together into the men's room, while I tiptoed timidly into the women's room, my stomach churning and fluttering, filled with the fear of exploring the unknown. I sat down on the bench, took off my socks and shoes, put them away and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I was shit scared.

I stepped in gingerly into the space where women and kids were dressing, undressing, showering etc. Each one was in a different state of undress! And I was simply shocked! Never before had I seen so many people in the nude, leave alone women. And never before had I been in a situation where I had to be nude too! 'Could I just leave right now? I don't want to get into this!' I said to myself. But I couldn't leave. Perhaps I didn't want to. And of course, my son and husband would not know I had changed my mind....I had no way of telling them too, until I got to the pool! I was stuck! I felt trapped......by my own fears.

It was not a fear of just being nude. It was a fear of being nude in the midst of people I didn't know at all. It was a fear of being judged and rejected for who I was in my body, my form. 'What will people think of me?'

I ogled at the women with shock, disbelief and then a sheepish curiosity. Some older with huge, sagging breasts, some fat with heavy thighs, some skinny, some graceful, some stiff, some middle-aged and younger with pubic hair, some clean and hairless, some with skin bruises, some with scars and blemishes. Yes, that's where my eyes went......to all those parts that I had seen in myself with dislike and shame and lack. Parts that I had begun to love slowly and gently. And suddenly something shifted inside and I realised that we were all the same. And beautiful. It was a warm, happy feeling and I suddenly felt a little more at ease and safe. Yes, it was so important to feel safe. Safe in the body.

None of the women even seemed to care or even saw me ogling at their bodies. They just carried on doing their own thing as if nothing else mattered. Phew! That was what made me relax actually. I found my locker and carefully and slowly started undressing. I asked a lady if we could take the towel to the shower. She smiled, shook her head and pointed to the towel racks near the showers. "Keep your stuff there, take a shower and then wear your suit," she said and turned away to carry on showering. Yes, we had to strip down to our skin and in front of everybody. There were no private showers. No doors to close and hide behind.

I shivered a little as I walked nude to the shower from the locker. It was just a few feet. But I felt like a streaker, walking a ramp across the whole world. I felt as if a million eyes were following me. I heard voices yell out: "How can you do this?", "You shameless creature!", "You know you can walk out if you want....you don't have to do this." I felt something pulling me back. Yet, I walked on. Shamelessly. Into the shower. It was all over in a few minutes. The flow of water started and stopped automatically. I went to the rack and took out my swimsuit. I put it on with a sense of both relief and liberation. As if I had walked through the fire that I needed to walk through. And no one was watching me. No one but myself.

When I walked out the other side to the hot pool with the steam inviting me in on a bitterly cold day, the smile on my son's face was something that I could have died for! He hugged me and thanked me later for what I had done for him. A moment and a hug that I will always cherish. A hug that was for me, a celebration of a liberation that I had longed for, and realised how much I had longed for, only when I experienced it.....experiencing my fear fully. And yes, I enjoyed being in the little hot pools of water, holding on to the walls, leaning back and enjoying the feeling of weightlessness and wetness and warmth soak me up like I had never experienced before. Bliss.

A week later, the day before we left Iceland, we went to another geothermal pool. This one was much bigger and more crowded, more touristy. There were similar rules. But this time, that part was almost a breeze. Yes, I was terrified of letting go in the pool. It was large and much deeper than the other one. I felt like a toad would perhaps, in the sea. I held my husband or my son's hand tightly all the time. That was the way I could enjoy the experience. And yes, it was beautiful in its own way, as we held each other and moved across the water in search of warmer waters, as our faces were doused with freezing cold rain and wind! What an experience!

So yes, all this could have happened with none of this drama and heartache perhaps, back in India, where there is no need to strip or be nude before you get into a pool. It could have been much easier and more enjoyable. But that simply wasn't to be for me. This seems to be the fire I needed to walk through to journey into my body even deeper than before. And I am happy that I could open myself up to life to work on me in the best way possible.....for me.

Here is a poem that flowed through me later that night as I sat alone in the cottage, saying a quiet thank you to Life for bringing me all that I had ever needed on this great pilgrimage, and for choreographing it all to perfection .....

Broken Waters

and as I stepped out
from your womb,
my fears held safe
in your depths
all these years,
I felt the smelting
of heavy chains,
of unspoken terror
leaving me,
and I looked up
to the winter sun,
filled with a lightness
of a heart and body
that's finally learned
to feel and cherish
the wetness
and freshness
of broken waters,
given birth
to a sacred life,
waiting to be held
and worn.

~~~~~~ 

Here is a lovely film that came up today in my news feed and was the trigger that got me writing this post.....

https://vimeo.com/125692953?ref=fb-share

Without Reason

a sunset
is a sunset.
why make it
into a moonrise
that's on its way?
or a sunrise
that's passed on
into a finite day?

a sunset
is a sunset.

see me
for who I am.
feel me.
now.
not for who you thought I was.
not for who you want me to be.
love me.
through all seasons.
without comparison.
without reason.

Stuck.

frozen.
inside my soles.
I can't take
a single step,
even as my eyes
roam the horizon.
and the earth shakes
violently
beneath my feet.

muscles twitch
to feel an inch
of stillness,
in a world
with no margins,
no lines to follow,
no imaginings
to form patterns
with even wispy
beginnings
and ends.
only spirals.
endless.
folding into themselves.

cocooned
by Life
who knows
how to work
on me,
tired eyes
find their way home,
muscles twitch
and come alive
in the craziness,
dancing in skins
centuries old,
loosening their grip
on faithless bones,

and a tiny seed
opens itself out to the world
from its imposed tightness,
sinking invisible roots
into the sticky emptiness
and beyond,
waiting,
noticing,
becoming,
the effortless flow
of life within Life.

At the Altar of Death

put down
all your beliefs
your stories
your identities
your dreams
your whole self
first
at the altar of Death

leave them there
for a while,
as you bow down
and open yourself
to the fragrant breath,
feeling it flow
into and out of
your every cell

and then,
receive it all -
everything you put down,
as an offering
from the God of Death,
wearing them
with reverence
and grace

remember
their fragrance,
their softness,
their lightness,
as they lay strewn
like colourful flowers
with death on their wish-list,
ready to offer themselves
up again, any time.

and then you will know how to live.

November

Water and sky
rest on stage
in each others' arms,
after a frenzied tango.
Suddenly, there's a hint of sun
lightening the grays,
as above, so below.
Dragonflies dance
across still eyeballs.
Islands of seaweed float by,
setting to work
on unfinished business.
Flood waters recede
to unknown shores,
their mission accomplished.
Crows prompt the lost silence
with their frantic calls.
While I sit back and cherish
the curling fragrance
of my warm tea,
having played my part
in this one-act play,
cheering myself, my life,
for the inimitable courage
to live through
and celebrate
every season,
and this dark grey
November.

I walked out of the house today.

I walked out of the house today.
a house I thought was home.
stung by the barbs
of my own skin -
identities,
insanities,
fantasies,
lies I told myself,
comfy beds I snuggled in,
strangers I invited in,
mirrors I gazed into
that distorted my face,
pores clogged with indifference.

I walked out of that house today.
a house that could never be home,
I walked into the starkness of the night,
naked, my tender skin
splashed with blood
from plucked out barbs,
a blood-red heart now come alive,
thumping out a new song of love
for myself and the world,
and suddenly, I could breathe!




 

Born Free

today,
I want to talk about
my pain mother,
not yours;
the world sees
and extols
your pain,
but what about mine?
is it any less?
or more?
who would know?

did you know
I thought I was dying
as I slipped out
of the safe,
nourishing void?
squeezed,
pressed,
pulled,
pushed,
and wrung out,
my frail lungs
crushed
between walls
without an end,
daggers plunging
into tender skin,
I struggled
and gasped
through
the darkness,
a terrified ball
stretched thin and flat -
perhaps my
first painful lessons
of how to fit
into the trappings
of a fitted world
I had to make my home;

yet,
the song of my heart
exploded
into the sleepy silence
of an alien world,
with the rush of blood
from incessant stabs;
my heart throbbed
and expanded
with that first gulp
of blessed air
I swallowed
without your help;
and my insides
they came alive,
announcing
to the universe,
that I had
indeed arrived.

and the world
looked at me
with ignorance
and awe,
smothering me
with pitiful eyes,
they only saw
a helpless child
swaddled in fear,
they didn't know
I was born free,
held by life.

Ring of Salt

there's a storm out there,
where bodies prowl
over haunting shadows,
scrounging
for a flicker of light -
anything would do;
while deep inside
in a temple,
circled
by a ring of salt,
a lamp burns
unattended,
standing
in an eternal stillness
that feeds its bowels,
where a fire
gives birth
to itself,
preserved
in the salt of the earth.

Vignette

dressing her for the pyre
with a sari
that she would never wear
draping her tiny form,
a mother presses
the last round bindi
onto her baby's face,
whispering words
of love and loss,
for a life
taken away too soon;

a daughter draped
in red and white,
and a bindi
centered
between her brows,
lights her father's chest
with a handful of fire
torn from her burning gut,
and she whispers nothing;

a deathly silence
smudges the edges,
and deepens the colours
of a wordless void
etched in the ether -
of a mother,
a daughter,
their loss, and
an unbordered love.

Blind

somewhere
in the dark alleys
of a bustling city,
blood flows
in the drains,
shots explode
into a ghostly silence,
voices tremble
with nameless fears
falling into a void
that swallows it all,
and a feeble voice
starts a revolution
to pump blood
into tight hearts
longing to expand,
to expunge
the darkness
with one fell sweep
of an unfelt love;
somewhere
in the same moment,
in the deep grooves
of a virgin earth,
vines suck on juicy trees,
rafflesias devour innocent flies,
dogs swallow their sickly pups,
birds abandon beaks
too weak to hold food,
mantises gorge on mantises,
with weapons
tucked under folded arms,
tireless armies of ants
eat up forests
in one giant nibble,
and we,
standing in the same darkness
stay blind
to what we cannot,
will not see.

Eyes of Molten Steel

how do I paint the world
that breathes inside me?
staid colours
cramped brushes
walled palettes
belonging
to another world,
all speak half truths,
when there are so many colours,
containers and strokes,
that have never been seen
by eyes trapped in pupils
straining to see
only the visible,
even in a changing
invisible world
lit up by eyes
of molten steel.

Boredom

this boredom
is a waiting room -
a pause
within
a spinning pause;

sometimes,
a fish tank
with roving eyes,
prying open
a masked existence;

sometimes,
a magazine picked up
from a corner rack,
filling
an unmistakable hollow
with a fleeting delight
of forgotten selves;

sometimes,
muted piped music
pulsing through
a sleepy heart
ruminating on the speed
of turning wheels;

often,
a necessary sabbatical,
nudging a self
to get back
in conversation
with an ordinary life
that's always alive.

Space

and it wasn't until
a gust of salt wind
struck the stiffened jaws
of my pinched face,
that I even knew
I was stuck

in a small, tight room
I had made my home;
unopened windows
now open,
billowing lungs
inspired to purge
and stretch
into the divine aroma
of a long breeze,

converging eddies
in deep pools,
wind and water
leave veins of salt
and empty riverbeds
exploding
with a passion
to breathe,
to feed life,
to live, and
to live well.

simple joys

when you speak,
I wish I could feel
the wind dancing
through every pore
of your glowing skin,

when you laugh,
I wish I could curl up
in the corners of your smile,
and watch the world light up
as I jiggle myself to sleep,

when you move,
I wish I could follow
the lines and curves
of your fluid body
in their timeless postures,

when you grow silent,
I wish I could drop
into the mysterious folds
of your heart
to hear its unbroken song,

when you rest,
I wish I could catch
the fragrance of your breath,
lying still and alive
in the space within,

I wish I could be with you
in the simple joys
of meeting, of merging -
mind to mind,
heart to heart,
skin to skin.

Winter

today,
I want to speak of winter...
of the empty white solitude,
the bone-chilling cold -
a harsh reminder
of what needs to thaw,
the skeletons of trees
dreaming of new forms,
and the silent breeze
feeding fresh lives.

yes, today,
I want to speak of winter;
not of the glory
of autumn or summer,
of the warmth of color and skin,
and the prettiness
of what's obvious;
no, not even of spring
and the bounce and smiles
of things exploding
into themselves
and each other;
for many have spoken
about them.

today,
I want to speak of winter.
of the unspoken,
of the unmet,
where life is on hold,
in the stillness
of a white womb,
yet changing quietly,
with the slowness
and grace
of unseen wheels
turning in the darkness,
and the innocence
of what simply is;

dressed in pure white,
is a mother waiting,
soaking in the harshness,
to feel the warmth
of skin against skin.

yes, today....I killed a man.

yes, today
I killed a man.
a man who lived
inside me,
choking me
with my own hands.
yes, today
I killed a man.
not for the world
to watch,
or weep,
or join in
in the revelry.
I killed him
in the quiet
of my own temple,
where I first lit a lamp
to call in the gods
to stand by me.
yes, today
I thrashed him,
I shook him up,
until he opened
his fear-filled eyes,
so I could gouge them out,
and stabbed his frozen heart
until the dark red
oozed and dripped
onto his dead white skin.
yes, today
I killed a man,
who was spent,
a man who I'd wanted to love
but couldn't.
yes, today
I killed a man,
who didn't need a temple,
for he believed he was god;
who was too ravenous to offer
food for my soul,
and so, I let him go;
yes, today
I killed a man.
I fed the pyre
with the burning logs
of my wounded heart,
and watched them burn
as white became black
and crumbled to grey.
yes, today
I killed a man
with my hands,
as I offered myself
and him,
to the gods.

Endless Wonder

and while the world
watched shadows
play out
in empty fields,
eyes flitting,
unaware,
between
the stolid black
and unreal lights
on misshapen forms,
you and me,
we sat still,
under the vastness
of the night sky
rolled out
for all to see,
our eyes lost
in the endless wonder
of distant stars
dotting
the virgin canopy.

Stories

and we cling to our stories
like leeches
sucking out
every ounce of life,
to live and outlive
the lies we tell ourselves,
the warm blankets we need
on cold, dark nights,
the fires that we light
over and over again
with different travellers
each time,
conversation starters
and sometimes enders,
avatars we incarnate into,
to become the gods
we already are,
even without them;

yes, of course
we need our stories,
to sing our songs,
to dance, to rise,
to fall, to chime in,
to let out
our long-trapped voices
in cracks of stone;

but let's not be bound
by those chains
that slit our wrists,
let's not breathe
their stale, heavy air,
let's not make them
our flesh and bones;
let them live
in the warmth of our skin,
until it's time
to shed their outlived lives,
let's celebrate their death
like the skin of happy bubbles
popping every now and then;
for they are not raging gods
and goddesses
out of incredible myths;
they are but specks of dust
gathering together,
to dance awhile
in a slanting sunbeam
resting upon
the dark
of another unborn morn.