Perhaps he saw Radha in her Peacock Form

Art by: https://www.facebook.com/Tharika
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74

Slashed earth, perfection
Into the finite
O’ my martyr! O’ my half-hour
Breeze and music of beauty
Black hair of resting on itself
Boddiswattva’s diamond body

In a woman, it’s been
So long since I could speak
Of extravagance
Though in the village of color
I am a mere stone figure

A lion sprawled prophet
In the cemetery of chaos
And society’s starving hide
Like the slums, of New Orleans
Slashed earth, hope for the future

Drum beats and jazz
Ceromonies in what time?
How many decades
Does humanity have left?
This ache in my soul, a disembodied
Entity, just giving each letter a gem

Just giving her memory a name
To pass on, in vivid swirls
Like the painting you hid
As Music
Like the wind embracing the water

Something invisible to the naked eye
I’ve sat and waited for inspiration
It gives me Chills!
To feel a bit of glitter
At the end of long day
These lonely streets have been begging
For shadows that did not feel
Like I was a naked animal

3 thoughts on “Perhaps he saw Radha in her Peacock Form

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