i reach out to contact You, Shiva, but i cannot
dent the dense interior coronavirus haze.
i cannot reach You, so i drop into a deep daze.
i sink. i float. i snag upon thorny vasanas,
empty & drained of energy, joy & liveliness.
the body resembles a zombie refugee, slow,
heavy as gravity, composed of mud, meat & bone,
now absolved by unthinking, unfeeling raw dark sleep.
void of intent & organization, there is rest,
a descent & upsurge, a cleansing, a long release.
Shiva, reduced in vitality by a virus,
i look for You behind the moving shadow surface
anyway, for only You give the depth that i seek,
the height that i aim for & the strength to continue.
i am Your own primal kin returning now to You.
i bring poems, offered like the tinsel gifts of crows,
sincerely grateful that You are here to receive them,
these small shiny bright innocent tributes i give now.
OM NAMAH SHIVAYA
i am 82, living in a nursing home and deepening my spiritual life as is appropriate as one ages. i am a student of the Sanatana Dharma and a devotee of Lord Shiva.
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2 thoughts on “the tinsel gifts of crows”
Deeply touched by your sharing! Sending love and blessings for your full recovery. In gratitude, Elke
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thank you, elke. i am returning to full functionality more every day.