breathe me


Because the painful fingers of losing time are too much, to touch you. A warm body of light covers me. Delicate skin, I’m losing control. I’m afraid to touch you. He’s in every window. Dying eyes down the window, rain. Summer’s gone. And I can’t hold a thing, not this body. You on the bed rolling over. Another life, another girl. Tongues, dark alleys where I remember. I’ve done things, shameful burning things that take me, take me away. To the one waiting with another lonely girl. A body, a sleek fast body. Did I tell you I’m afraid of the light through my window. In the night, when it’s dark and he watches. It’s him, light bearing body reminding. Open me. I’m coming home. And I didn’t forget a thing. Your skin, your face, your voice. The smell of roses. Candles, flickering shadows that fear nothing. Hands, the hands that could never touch me. Deeply enough to be had. There is a way out. Through my fingers she drains, body of rain. Candles that die and simply disappear. This time I will not forget you. This time I will not turn my eyes. This time no other woman will exist. This time the bones won’t betray me. This time even love won’t get away from the morning. Temple of what I want, this time she won’t leave. But he goes. Anyway. Without leaving. Just slowly fading as I fade, into earth, wrinkled roses. Petals falling. Pink lady. Everyone disappears. Flame I pray, picture of a dead man. I turn to God like a storm creating a song, through the trees and soft spoken nature alleys. Every pain has a gate, a threshold. You are mine. I call it rain because crying is not really it. It’s more like releasing what I can’t let go. I call it other things besides fear and loss and the beauty of young animals not knowing they’ll die so they run really fast as the bird flies towards the east, chasing sunrise and breakfast. Always happy I’m still alive. We both pretend we’ll never leave. Like a rainbow is touchable, like my skin is eternal. Like she wears flowers in her hair, like a candle could be moonlight. Like you don’t see the innocence draining through time. Touch the ecstasy one more time, she is in you. My destiny love, as blue as forever. Another life will call and you’ll leave without even trying. And I’ll be just a memory, like the movie that meant something deeper or like opening a front door without checking who knocked. I’ll be there but you won’t know or remember who her love was, you’ll only smell her hair and think of falling rain. You’ll see her young face and think of soft babies. You’ll smile when she smiles because she’ll be here, again with you inside your soul. He’s reaching through the window, we don’t notice or care until after she leaves. Another night, candles dying. Roses hung like dead bodies, animals lying dead on the floor. The fire has given up, the wood is all gone. The phone has stopped ringing. The corners are blurred. The chimes have stopped, her breath doesn’t move. I inhale deeply hoping to find you.Β Inside where I promised I would never forget. And it hurts so much to see you and I don’t know why. Because I’m old, not old but ancient. Too ancient to care that I’ll be dead another time while you see me, crawling toward the window where this man lives. Outside, inside the earth that has become mud and river. She turns the wind and clouds into bodies that sing open as birds in the morning. Sun through the trees. His fingers through her newborn hair. The smell of wood as it surrenders to flames. What else can we do but love as death loves, the one it releases, takes every breath from. Gives itself to finding light in the shadows. Under warm dreamy bodies as they desperately grope. Give me God, won’t you give me God. Get in me, find God. Let me go, find me in God. Be God. Reach God. Be my window. Break the window. Find my soul. Let me go. Are you God. Get in God. Get out it’s God. Give me God, can you find me? Be me. All over me. See me. Kill me. Release me. Light me. Love me. Consume me. Create me. Cast your shadow over me, rise in me. Another face could never be mine. If you look away ever, I’m gone.
Gone in the sharp pain, deep in the sharp pain. Your eyes in my rain pain. I’ll never look back pain. She is what the storm brings. He’s looking for new beginnings. She’s determined to end things. Young bodies die like dream things. And I love like love is my fate. And I love like God could be anything. You, seeds of buried poetry, in me, opening the window where he breathes and his tears fall because he’s old and he loves me and he’s young and he’ll leave me and I’m lost like every butterfly that leaves it’s body hanging just to float and flutter, just to flicker and die in a place that nobody ever sees or will ever find. I have never seen a dead butterfly but I’ve been one. I’ve been a rainbow hanging upside down in the rain while he kissed my dead body praying to God I’d come back. The morning never came again. The moon never held another candle. Your body never touched mine. The rose had no perfume. My soul turned gray and love was just this doorway, this threshold to now. Where I find you looking at me, forgetting all that this happened. Smiling, reaching for my hand. I see what God, if I could be God, sees in you. This, myself anguish as a goddess, holding on to the ecstasy of another night in heaven. One more night on earth. A bridge into eternity where we never part. Where gaps don’t exist, where I am safe and I am nothing because I cannot die, only disappear out the window and into your blue heart.Β And it’s a dream, breathe me. I’m a dream as real as any God could be, rolling over between the sun and moon, inside red sheets. Worshipping the end of time, where only God is real.

Breathe me. Sharada Devi


12 thoughts on “breathe me”

  1. It soothes the pain,
    Breathing you.
    The pain always brings me back.

    At least it can be,
    A dream.
    The petals are falling faster now.

    Read my words, see my smile, touch my hand, this room is on fire.

    Open the room, a room,
    Of my mind- Dead bodies, that didn’t care enough, or didn’t think they could be enough,
    All burning. The flame, the white, the blue, dancing a way to turns up the heat- because the cold will take my breath away- The one who is “none,” compels. Me, driven to the flame. The one who will leave you is “barely there.” Just wood for the fire. I’m cold, all I can do is see you, and burn. Faster. All I can see and hear about the future terrifies. The past is dead or dying. All I can do is give up.
    The rose

    1. All you can do is NEVER give up.
      And grow deep into the ephemeral earth.
      Let the sky fall and relax.
      Nothing lasts but the spirit of fire..
      It never makes sense until after the fact,
      none of it, my words, these things,
      me or you. You better die trying to live.
      Is all I’m saying- so myself and those on the other end of the line can hear you.
      No wonder you don’t like speaker phone!

  2. so this is a another scattered dream woven story. words upon words. Once it was about the apocalypse and now about another end of days or the choices of the ones who are left to stay behind and play out the subtle details of their personal lila. Karma will out. Attachment to, the relinquishing of . It could be sweetly flowing, graceful and expanding in the process of gleaning. Like the White Swan, drawn, without fetter, gliding on placid waters propelled soul-y by sheer magnetism un- hindered and bound for celestial glory. Empty mind – God intention. Simply leaning in that direction. Effortless. Another story. Whichever way the accumulated tenure ciphers out it’s intended timeline it’s all a drawn out, quickening of stage one- fading into black again and again- a multitude of phases through the never- end spiral. One being, on the fringe of death threshold sits peacefully, at ease, dangling legs over the precipice of seraphim settling stones that hover over the expanse of all, and banters with One who’s death he has witnessed – ” what’s death like?” … “it’s like nothing at all”. Another story spells out death likened more to hell – especially aimed at the fears of children – places like limbo and purgatory. … What do i know… It’s all a mind jumble… i was thinking of my good, dear, long ago friend. Her name was Star Lady. She always wore white. And only ate raw food way back when it hadn’t become “cool”. And i knew her before i met her. When i finally saw her face, i looked into her eyes and said ” Your name is Cathy” and it was. And she was strong. And she was resilient. And she was an angel woman. She had been married to a professor from JPL and then shed that skin and slithered out of that life and claimed the birthright she was born to be. Never looking back.
    i don’t know why i am saying any of this – it must be remotely provoked by your words. i can never keep up with what ever is going on between you and Garuda. And i doubt i should give it a second thought. i’m am not a poet or even of that mindset to put words together that sets off any such kind of exchange.
    maybe i just had an overwhelmingly heavy head trip day – too full of material details and i was about to explode with the ways of the world.
    Is it ok that i just rambled here for awhile ?

    1. This isn’t another one of many. Snowflake. Dreams aren’t scattered. Wake up inside. Head after head, nobody hears the long sentence. It’s not the words but the world of the unspeakable that move us to tears. Dead star ladies are scattered everywhere but here. Earth, box shaped pages, perfectly threaded. Going nowhere but back to the heart. Garuda is on the heart path. We talk through the pages like the way birds do in the sky. Headless birds with wings that have been here before.

      1. She is so beautiful, seen through a window
        Probably because it reminds, you know, of a metaphysical space where you can’t touch-
        without hands is how I want to touch you.

        “The world of the unspeakable”
        Is where I want to live, God damnit. When I’m done shaking the tree, I lay down under the sky, but no voice comes, telling me to, “sink in.” clogged ears. eyes remembering,
        I have to get up to get down. Raise my voice and be struck silent.

        1. I think of all those blue eyed tears, and the Indian girl in the sari, because she didn’t know how beautiful she was. And the
          way she was washing clothes on a rock next to the river. Blue river. When we get to India, we’ll see her everywhere. Beauty flows and never sees itself as the One.

  3. unique
    relinquish each severed head as it rolls into the basket
    tears came after pressing post
    always aspiring to the heart path
    not acquiring sky language
    must be lifetimes behind
    in all truth, there has been much pain, not able to use my right arm lately.
    it emanates from the wing area of my right shoulder.
    Like something is in process of change or maybe in a state of loss.
    if ever i were to fly, one wing is better than none.

      1. did not see this comment until today.
        i really like it!
        Thank You Sharada Devi ❀️
        ( my computer has been down since friday )
        it was blessing it to be away from the screen for this while
        faith falling into the nurturing arms of the One.

        i also keep flashing back to your comment

        “in the flipping of the switch
        turn with those who turn
        death into rainbows.

        1. I know, I impressed even myself with that lime!!!β€οΈπŸ’›πŸ’šπŸ’™πŸŒˆβ˜€οΈHere comes the sun!β˜€οΈ

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