Presence

I had plunged myself in the earthen river,

It was filled that year with incessant rains,

And mud pouring from the heavens, my,

Soul and I both merged within the heart,

Of the river, turning once again myself into,

A chaste, my untainted soul and body waited,

Beneath the waves carrying mud along to,

His dwelling, and seldom few of my remnants,

Carefully placing in his cupped hands dipped,

Whence to wash that fair face, beaming black,

Eyes that still thought about a woman, his muse,

This birth he was born as a lone man on the,

Secluded parts of the hills from where the river,

Flows, bringing him the signs and news of my,

Presence still holding abundant love within,

That dead heart, the mud was everywhere on his,

Floors that came from beneath his feet, on his,

Bare skin which he bathed, and I silently came,

Drifting along with the waves merging unto him,

Willing to stay like that forever, embracing to my,

Lover’s body in my earthen presence for long,

Alas! He washed me away with fresh water,

A troubled face I gazed while melting till his feet,

Before leaving made my obeisance and once,

Again I turned into that dust that I already was,

Nowadays my lover doesn’t arrive to the shore,

Anymore, the rivulet remains a reason for his,

Despise, my lover’s heart wasn’t satiated bathing,

The fresh translucent water gave him merely,

Handful of dust in his cupped hands and skin,

How could he know the heaven’s conspiracy?

They were all working towards our unison,

The waves and I have now become still, the water,

Is like mirror, in which he seldom finds his face,

Reflecting, he wonders why? Why the flowing,

Water has clogged as he walks towards his hut,

But my associates brings me the news when the,

Whole world have their eyes closed,

Into the sweet slumber, but he keeps awake,

Singing the songs of our revered love dreaming,

And calling my name, the rivulet every night,

Hears his humming and send me through ripples,

I do visit him then every night in his dreams,

But that love of ours is like dying smoke,

I am present yet not present, I don’t ever sleep,

Haven’t in years, to which often I wonder,

How wonderful it would be again to sleep,

For once to close my eyes and forget the worries,

But my days are passing in the incessant wait,

Of being one as a body and soul, with my earthly,

Lover, bare as born, making love within that,

Cottage or in someplace unknown, for this birth of,

His has to finish, alas! My presence to his side is,

Still there, but he has chosen not to feel it, I know,

It makes him cry, and I can’t cry to his tears,

It shall bring flood, my love has to be peaceful,

And not a curse, this birth of his I am not his side,

Waiting for that blessing to be human again,

Born as his woman merely, had me this,

Price to pay; I chose to be the river flowing beside,

His hut, and the dust that shall touch his skin, embrace,

For as long I am born again, even the Gods cried,

Offering me births amid the riches, yet I denied,

I chose being present around him as rivulet,

Because I wouldn’t bear another woman to his side,

I am still his woman’s heart, much in love with him...

~Monalisa Joshi~