SoulReserve

Parvati

sealanehill:

I see her from afar,
Sitting alone in the early day,
Tracing gossamer thoughts
And hearing the whispers
Of her heart.
Her muse is the One
Who is not there,
The One who is
Inaccessible,
Yet whose presence
Is so real that
He stirs the deepest passion
Of her womanly soul.
Thoughts shape images,
Murmurs, words
And she sings
Of smoke and fire,
Incandescent and all-consuming,
Of drink so concentrated
One sip intoxicates.
I listen, taken by her music
Toward her heart’s
Center,
Hoping for invisibility,
That my presence not
Disturb her muse,
Hoping to be unseen
By her consort,
Shiva,
Should he return
While she is in her
Bliss.

©sealanehill, 2017

For @soulreserve

Shiva

He meditates
monsters and moods
swivel
in his belly,
the weight of
the world
on his shoulders,
severe
temperamental
like the cold
Himalayan peaks
he is aloof,
so distant
what affair
will bring back
his reverie
to me? I wonder
and knit yarns
sing songs, as I
lace flowers
in my plait, drape
silk, and adorn
jewellery
I think softly
of someone less
terse, someone
who has a poet’s
heart, and maybe
a little time
for me.

© SoulReserve 2017

for @sealanehill

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