Curled up beneath the duvet
knees drawn up to chest
inhaling the smokey scent of my fleece
sown fresh nostalgia
I remembered how
we laughed and ate off chinaware
while sipping out of plastic cups
sitting by the fire pit
in the backyard
my eyes wandered
towards the woods at dusk
and I breathed
realizing we are just specks of dust
that glimmer in the light of our Creator.

I see my resolve like wax to fire.

I will be the phoenix from the ash.
I will not grant them my laboured breath in anxiety,
only pleasure.
You may have bruises, but only on my skin.
I smack
I choke.

Keep your hands off my heart.

Although I know that I would wear it like a black eye, shining, if only I had the belief.
Give me a something to chainmail my smile.
Only arrows can get in.
And only those with the intention to aim true

In love, nothing exists between heart and heart.
Speech is born out of longing,
True description from the real taste.
The one who tastes, knows;
the one who explains, lies.
How can you describe the true form of Something
In whose presence you are blotted out?
And in whose being you still exist?
And who lives as a sign for your journey?

We do not get a human life
Just for the asking.
Birth in a human body
Is the reward for good deeds
In former births.
Life waxes and wanes imperceptibly,
It does not stay long.
The leaf that has once fallen
Does not return to the branch.
Behold the Ocean of Transmigration.
With its swift, irresistible tide.
O Lal Giridhara, O pilot of my soul,
Swiftly conduct my barque to the further shore.
Mira is the slave of Lal Giridhara.
She says: Life lasts but a few days only.



Life in the world is short,
Why shoulder an unnecessary load
Of worldly relationships?
Thy parents gave thee birth in the world,
But the Lord ordained thy fate.
Life passes in getting and spending,
No merit is earned by virtuous deeds.
I will sing the praises of Hari
In the company of the holy men,
Nothing else concerns me.
Mira's Lord is the courtly Giridhara,
She says: Only by Thy power
Have I crossed to the further shore.

Stars drift lazily
over the peaceful dark pond
and shine watchfully

Gentle moon whispers
hazy lullabies of calm
that will tranquilize

Owls hoot their wisdom
so worlds will rest untroubled
cocooned in shadows

5** Years
1825 Days
43800 Hours
2628000 Minutes
157680000 Seconds

Of my life.

That is how much you took from me.
The time I spent dying.
That is how much I gave for you.
The time I spent trying.

That is how long that I have dreamed.
The time I spent away.
That is how long it took me to understand.
The time I spent delayed.

Forever doesn't seem so long,
Once the water finally clears.
The filth all swept down the drain,
With imaginary tears.

The story of the hero,
Though mournful to behold,
Does bring to light a glorious end,
The one I soon will hold.

Five long, sad, years,
Spent in something like misery.
They shaped the person I've become,
They defined the who of me.

They cured me of all weakness,
Of hope and love and light.
They broke me down and built me up.
Inspiring confidence to flight.

Nearly two thousand days,
Not one did miss a thought of you.
Such emotion did they inspire!
But alas I made it through.

I know those days to be over,
For you are left behind.
Twenty four hours passed,
Not a hint of you on my mind.

Forty thousand hours,
What a joke that number seems.
Yet over ten thousand,
Spent seeing you in my dreams.

Now hours are spent alive,
Full bodied and whole.
None spent lost in hopeless dreams,
Warm bodies against the cold.

Millions of minutes you ruled my heart,
You who governed my desire.
I laugh aloud at the thoughts,
Of the weakness you inspired.

Looking back at me, I can see,
Each moment spent a mistake.
But as is the nature of such things,
Those again I'll never make.

A hundred million seconds.
That is how long I loved you.
Up until the very last,
I knew it to be true.

Like forbidden fruit on sweetest vine,
I truly wished to partake.
But through the years, days, hours, minutes, seconds,
You were my biggest mistake.

With my whole body I taste these peaches,
I touch them and smell them.  Who speaks?

I absorb them as the Angevine
Absorbs Anjou.  I see them as a lover sees,

As a young lover sees the first buds of spring
And as the black Spaniard plays his guitar.

Who speaks?  But it must be that I,
That animal, that Russian, that exile, for whom

The bells of the chapel pullulate sounds at
Heart.  The peaches are large and round,

Ah! and red; and they have peach fuzz, ah!
They are full of juice and the skin is soft.

They are full of the colors of my village
And of fair weather, summer, dew, peace.

The room is quiet where they are.
The windows are open.  The sunlight fills

The curtains.  Even the drifting of the curtains,
Slight as it is, disturbs me.  I did not know

That such ferocities could tear
One self from another, as these peaches do.

O Matsushima!
O Matsushima!
O Matsushima!