I don’t know
Where you will begin
And
Where I end.
How many trees
The Simorgh visits
Before she makes a nest.

I don’t know,
How many nights
rain falls
Before sky, landscape, umbrella
Give up their languages
Allow the ordinary
Falls on the sacred earth.

I don’t know,
What this longing is
Pealing the skin,
Condition after condition,
Where vision get blur in dust.

Words are frozen
In the throat
Orange tastes bitter
And I still can’t get lost
In your silence.

Longing,
Longing seems
all I have become,
In the wholeness of cycle.

My bones
Are cracked,
in solitude,
Graveyard of thoughts
Is full.

Hostility guards
The fake king
While the invisible child
Act carelessly,
Reveals the innocence,
Exposed,
Disappeared in the wind.

Where this longing takes me?

I am an empty room,
Away from open air,
living in exile.

I want to return
I want an ending,
I want fresh breeze
Through my windows.

I long for you,
I am receptive,
Will you end my exile,
Will you begin?

Will the distant moon
Offers her white cloak
to the dark ground
Beneath my feet?

I simply walk
through the thorns
of longing
Without be a burden
to any life
Including mine.

No end or begin
Seems true,
Life is
Infinite continuation,
So does the longing.

We keep repeating
Till we see
the invisible,
The sacred lies
in the ordinary.

© Serena Devi, December 2010

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