To Snooky

There was a silence,
Then
The voice echoed back
From the glass mountain.

A long time ago
A woman
Walked out of the ordinary road,
With a suitcase
Empty of memories
Full of anticipation
To find
Her Yar
the one
She loves the most.

Years passed,
She crossed
Many crowded roads.

One day
Her tracks transformed
In colorless steps
Leading to the invisible road.
Where
Every straight line
Destined
To turn into a circle.
The tree of love
Grows in a middle,
Rises above
The green hands of earth.

At the footprints
The sheppard is resting
Playing the flute.
Calling each sheep, by name.
She stopped
Accepted his share of bread
In exchange
With threads of her dark hair.

The next morning
Sheppard was gone.
The flute was left behind.

Silence echoes
From the glass mountain
The woman
Plays the flute,
Stepping away
From the tied suitcase
To drunken roots.

Nothing stayed the same,
Dust washed her face,
The forgotten heart
Met the true lover.

She is circling
No wall, is here,
No window,
Closed or open
Her quiet mind knows
The stranger standing
In the centre
Smiling
Is the friend,
Greeting her.

Yar has no name,
Yar has no face.
The heart knows
The owner of the hands
That made her
From threads of light,
In color of love.

The woman
found the one
She loves the most.

She
Plays the flute
Silence echoes,
Yar rests in her.
Everyday,
more and more.

* “Yar” in persian means sweetheart, playmate, beloved.

© Serena Devi, December 2010

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