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The madwoman
runs through the bazaars
And when she finds
thoughts of my Beloved
wandering the muddy lanes,
she swirls and twirls
and throws her arms
up in the sky.
He comes on stage, folds his hands in greeting, sits down. The light shining on him is too bright, too harsh. It won’t allow his magic to take root, grow, flow. They have to be dimmed. There, that’s right. Just enough so we can discern his form in still motion, and the expressions that arise and ebb on his mercurial face.
Silence hovers over the crowd like a krishna-hued monsoon cloud, heavy with anticipation. It’s rumbling with thunder now, unable to contain its own fullness. As his voice, and his hands, move from the earth to the sky, the cloud bursts into warm flashes of rain, drenching us with the furious beauty, the momentous suddenness, of his music.
Somewhere deep within, a snake uncoils and frees itself, rising all the way to the crown chakra.
Somewhere in the universe, a sun implodes.
Somewhere in the ocean, a pearl forms.
Somewhere in our collective consciousness, love begins. Once again.
The fine hair
on the reeds
the delicate drops
of dew
on the bamboo leaf
the flurry of feathers
on birds’ underbellies
the clouds engaged
in erotic embrace
your eyes
my eyes
all catch
this first light
this first warm kiss
between
earth and sky…
Any day now
I expect
the great mother goddess
to rise in revolt
in this ancient land
that she has nurtured
with her breath and milk and love
whose rivers carry her blood-benediction
whose very earth is her body
in her we all exist…
Any day now
I expect
the great mother goddess
to shrug off her benevolence
and turn against her children
a terrible beauty
astride a rampaging tiger
or perhaps
the old crone
who dances death
any time now…
For, hasn’t she taken offence
at far less provocation
than presented by
scarred wombs
from which
have been ripped out
her own emanations
stopped from being born
because they are
what she is — female?
Any time now
I expect
the great mother goddess
of this ancient land
to fill the breasts
of us ordinary women
with her divine rage
her unstoppable courage
and then we, her daughters
will rise
ululating and angry
adorned in red
millions of mother goddesses
carrying our emanations
in ironclad wombs…
Then perhaps
this massacre of innocents
will stop?
Astronomers, scientists
and all other rationalists
have ruined
celestial love!
By calling it ‘occultation’
and observing it
with telescopes
and other instruments
that measure distances
between the two lovers
– Moon and Venus
they were, last night
drawing close
in slow seduction
until she lay
beneath him, above him
tongues and limbs intertwined
united in love…
Watch, if you will
but with love
and respect
for a sacred amour
Be a voyeur, if you will
But please,
not a data-notching scientist!
