as the silver dusk

I prefer nighttime over daytime and the moon over the sun. I prefer quiet over getting to know you and I prefer a silhouette over the naked truth. I prefer an implication rather than a finger pointing and I prefer a hint over a stated fact. I prefer a breaking heart over a manic mind and I prefer moving over standing still. I prefer candlelight over a flashlight and I prefer you over me…

and you didn’t touch a thing when you walked into the room. Your feet were soft on the floor and nothing moved out of your way. This heavy hearted trying just got to be too much for you to bear and so you came quietly to lay down and listen. There is a stream outside my window.
I covered you with a blanket and then you fell asleep. I thought you were my baby and so I did what I should do -I laid my hands upon your heart and then I prayed for you…

I prayed inside where the light had died. I prayed that your mother might be me. I prayed that my baby would become the north star and I sang to those falling angels. I prayed that the cross might not be so heavy and I prayed that these fires would not burn so hot. I prayed that God would hold out his hand so that you would know your father. I prayed for your dreams and I prayed for your fears and I prayed for your laughter and I prayed for your tears. I prayed where you forgot to go…

and you slept and you dreamed that I was your mother but this time we lived on a river. The river was wide and the water was white and our life seemed small by its wayside. And the sound was in the way her hair fell from the mountain- a waterfall holding the gasp of new life. And my baby was fed and the holy men came and thought they could take you away. And I became the bear that I killed and I stomped out any chance of goodbye. And in your dream you never got sad but you played near the water with a ghost on your head. That ghost was me. Because I saved you and I haunt you when you sit near the melding water- and so you see only me in its foaming mirror. The trees are tall that you sit beneath and the winds are always howling the words you cannot hear. The winds howl, “You found her. She’s here.”

And I never took you from this twilight where you dreamed of two places at once. One in my heart and one in my head. I found a baby washed up on the shore- and I can’t tell if he’s still breathing…and I never woke you as you slept in my bed- as you tossed and you turned when I lifted my hands. One on your bruises and one on your scars. I prayed for my baby to rise from the dead. I prefer giving over taking.

Do you love me as you sleep and feel my life inside your heart? Do you love me as you dream and hear my pain inside your sorrow? Do you love me even though I found you washed up in the seeds of night? Do you love me just because I gave you all my Mother Light?

Do you think of me inside your dream when all the wonder has faded? When the rapids of the river rest and the holy men return? Will you remember me inside the dream when I gave my body to the dawn- when they came inside and tried to take you right before the morning bled-and I left myself wide open to the blackness of the sweep of light just inside the shining dead.

I do not own my baby as I swoon beneath the gaze of noon. I do not admit that I am rabid. There is a voice inside my head, there is a lover who isn’t far. There is an angel in her grave. There is a cross that hangs the sun. There is a deep hole in this fervor. There is a black swipe across my face. There is a sinful counterpart. There is a mother making breakfast. There is a widow scraping poison. There is a boy who murders. There is a breath that doesn’t come again…

my mouth can hold a million goodbyes…

so sometimes I take you away from me and my bed is empty and your head no longer rests upon my pillow…

and sometimes I swallow you inside the dream and the road goes away and the river vanishes. Why don’t you see me then?…

and sometimes I moan while I’m rocking the bed and my prayers turn to curses and my light turns to shadow. Will you still love me in the morning?

and sometimes I move you from your dream into mine where there is no dream and there is no you. And I take you as my baby and I sing you back to sleep…

and sometimes you tell me that you love me but most of all you just pretend that I’m not real. But if I’m not real- then you’re not my baby- and if you’re not my baby -then this fantasy is just a phantom- and this love is just another vision of a face that you can’t even see…

so be my baby and cry for me…

because you came and laid upon my bed like a little sparrow who had fallen from a tree…and I opened your mouth and I fed you my life and I blew upon your feathery wings…and I lifted you high into a white crimson love and we flew into a brand new dream…

as the silver dusk, I am forever yours.

Sharada Devi

15 thoughts on “as the silver dusk”

  1. You said a lot,clearly this comes from the heart.I would like to hear more a fuller context set the stage so we can really sink our teeth into it.

    1. Ok, details? direction to the river? the love wagon we rode in- or the color of my hair? my address??…or do you still have your baby teeth??
      thank you back and forth
      and over and over
      and forever born again
      sweet smiling song of God
      Arjuna.

    1. people keep telling me I should write books… maybe I will…but this is merely a blog and I’m doing my best…so it seems
      like it’s better than nothing…plus you’d have to buy the book $…thank you!

      PS- By “closer to the source” -what do you mean? Source of what?

  2. This isn’t a mind trip
    I am shooting the black moon
    With my being

    I can’t say, “like never before”, though it feels, that way
    Because I have already
    Died, written no sCRAWLed
    The last
    Word

    In brilliant
    Char
    On the inside
    Of every inch
    You can feel

  3. The momma-light-song calls us, we with paper shaped hearts that have a small burned hole in the middle. We prostrate before the raging river and step in for the final baptism. Raising our hands to the sky, reaching for something we feel is out of our grasp and yet you are forever near. Please cleanse us of all our impurities of actions and thoughts and our lack of kindness, our selfishness and our inability to give more than we take.

    We weep astounded that your wrathful hand reaches in the frigid turbulent waters and cradle us close to your brilliant rainbow blazing diamond heart in the darkest nights. We are cold wet kittens. Through the glass darkly we mew as you beckon us to your light, your grace and pour sweet Amrita momma milk elixir into the dish. “Come little kittens and warm yourself,” you murmur. We dry off and lick a little from the sacred dish and purr … and we perk up and begin to circle around and around, picking up speed chasing our water-logged feline tails. And the rains fall hard as the storm returns and you toss us back into the lapping waters.

    Jai Jai Ma

    1. back again Tara Devi🌹
      that sexy little kitten.
      meow meow meowwwww🔥🔥🔥
      bowing and purring and all
      little wet kitty is hungry
      Hahahahaha! I knew it too…
      ⚡️❤️⚡️

      1. Dearest Sharada Devi:

        You are pure love and know all the broken heartedness and dreams and loves deferred and know where all these leads to in the final end. Each moment so so deeply touched by the auspicious synchronicity of meeting in that off the road small open pathway in bleak winter. You are living light.

        Love Love Love

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