ॐ भूर्भुव: स्व: तत्सवितुर्वरेण्यं ।
भर्गो देवस्य धीमहि, धीयो यो न: प्रचोदयात् ।।
The wind blew sand into your nonchalant soul,
and your heart coughed. I entered the circle
at night, and I was consumed by fire. I did not
know of you then. I have fractured myself into
a thousand souls: but they are all whole, for I did
see you in my absence. Yet you? - you
were sailing, and your head was
full of water light.
I was significant when your mother poured out water
in a copper pot from a balcony; water, which
caught and held the moon, and then spilled over
with a quiet radiance. You wondered whether
the moon lived in the ground. In those days,
you were convinced that the moon was a faded
apple, and there was a man, living in the fruitstem,
who liked to fish.
Dream-works, flower fairies, and a quiet dislike of oranges
have influenced you throughout the years. I am only
a passing fancy, a listener to your hasty apologies,
as I am for those who whisper their mantras twice
before going to sleep. Your mother encourages
belief in others, and you are devoted to her,
and through her, to me. Mothers are beautiful,
freeing your eyes from the blinding sky.
I sought devotion when I
was light and gold.
Now you whisper your multiplication tables at night,
for they are significant. You are guilty time and time
again, so you call me quietly, but you have forgotten
my name. Your days are spent in dreams of waterscapes.
You are no painter, so you dip pinecones in paint. You
are a paper boat, now, running over the babbling brooks
who sing songs of 'why'.
You have forgotten me in your absence. Your soul is nonchalant,
and the wind has changed direction and is blowing sand into
my heart, which coughs, again, again.
The skylarks are humming
my song into the desert skies.
धीयो यो न: प्रचोदयात् ।