Written by Orpheus Prometheus & Anna Eurydice
Winding through Venice, backwater
channel glide into the saltmarsh lagoon,
half-light emergence of ancient stone –
Rothko limns a horizon of grace
Water laps in whispered palimpsest,
carrying echoes of every passage before us,
each ripple a memory that stains
seeping into the next
Mist clings like a votive prayer
burning in the hush of early spring
where silence is not absence, but potential
breath held before the worlds speaks again
Screeching metal swipes the sky clean
friction streaks at speed, freight train
cherry ride to Hyderabad, hot clay
baking in the midday oppression
Mahakali shouts the soul surrender
wheel of energy inward pull
streakes of red pulsating,
wanting to claim an ochre sky
And we –dust worn, Musi washed –
step into the shade of the banyan,
where roots do not tangle, they descend,
seeking earth as if they remember falling
Windblown hibiscus gathers in our hands,
soft residue of something once aflame,
as if, even flowers, must learn
the art of burning gently
You lay me across a painted threshold
muttering mantras and poetry in my ear
swirling my hair in waves of spiraled thought
licking the sweat from my breastbone
Stiring your heat and longing to be
here in the presence of breath
made manifest through honeysuckle
curls – sweet cries of love
And the world tilts—not to shake us free,
but offering us up, as if gravity, too,
has bent, kneeling in the impossible
truth of an eternal now.
What is real, if not this?
What is written, if not us?
The shrine doors sway in their hinges,
welcoming, whispering, waiting—
for us to cross through,
for what has always been known
to finally be spoken aloud.
Posted for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub: https://dversepoets.com/
Lingua Symphronesis 
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