(No one ever saw who burned or who drowned in this summer’s collapse.)

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The old building falls,  the lizard slithers through it, I sit watching, wondering what time sunrise is,
a pink hue approaches, an animal sleeps on my lap,  it’s been dark all night, I feel life in my midst enough to write about morning, to touch the blue cloud, silver inside me, a desert snake hisses goodnight, and for the last time the black hill rolls back and a new dawn seeps through the rip in the world above me, gold covers my face and the animal yawns, looking up into my ancient eyes that could know, now is the dying and now is the birth, now is the way we are born from night’s secret ashes. I have never slept, only dreamed of you leaving, together we rise from this floor, as bones of a God.

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Alone, another day. I look away, forgotten. I walk down the hallway, light footed. My mouth opens and closes. My eyes never move from your face. I open windows and close many doors. This house collapsed ages ago. Here we live together haunting the silence.

Here we take the shadow’s from themselves. I call this love, my oasis in the dry death of night. I hear this love, my rain over the sands of stone. We never moved from the bodies we covered, we only turned toward the bosom of dawn.

The little death, the born again stream of new hope. The life in these embers. I bring you my pain. Lift up your veil. I am inside suffocating the flame. A billow of smoke rises in memory of the fusion. Put me back inside where the dark things grow into light. Towards the east, where I bent and knew it was then that you’d gone. Into another world sanctuary. A time before this place was built. A star resting on another axis. A head with no hair. A woman inside me. A helix of rage so righteous it stings. Scorpion on fire, my love is the winged and invisible, inevitable result of your becoming like me. Inside the old building a shadow mounts a dark creature. I look the other way burning and hairless. Big death, I am the one leaving not you. This time.

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Peach colored stain, a rose made of skin. I am without any thorn or seed, anymore. A white takes over. The blank of a flash. The blink of two eyes losing each other. I was there, I really was.
And as the sun rose I realized that none of this matters. What matters is morning least of all.  What I know is what caused you to be mine and mine alone. A heavy that hovers just outside my heart. An inhale that never leaves. A beat of the earth beneath where I sit. A whisper from the depths of my soul. Don’t go yet. But I will remain. But death has no hand but mine. But she’s a shadow. But morning is here. But I love you. But we are not the clouds that we watch or become. My little home, my broken place. I’m here as always with you in my vision.

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Gold has entered my eyes. Blinded I find the precious entry. Waves of a quiet rumbling…and so I rise and float into the secret death defying solar ocean.

(No one ever saw who burned or who drowned in this summer’s collapse.)
Sharada Devi

17 thoughts on “(No one ever saw who burned or who drowned in this summer’s collapse.)”

  1. I feel that. A heaviness that suffocates. It is pain that holds on. It is real, this fusion, that happened, Bright as you see.

    This summer’s collapse, as if it could have been any other way… the torrent of water that was feared, is the relief of the season. Let me go and I flow, you are away- a way, as the morning fades…and I remain…smolder should be my name. Until I come back with you- free from myself. But that drumbeat you speak of… that is love happening. Terrible love- can’t take back this happening. Dead rose goes on like water seeping, after the rain. We return.

  2. The monsoon rains came and flooded with murky waters
    While wildfires burned the desert sands
    Into clear glass reflections
    The bright shining light projects
    Shadows of smoke from charcoal ashes
    All this mining just to find
    Black diamonds
    Shaken to the core with
    Explosive eruptions of emotion
    A monarch butterfly, a flying finch,
    A stag deer, all run into my vehicle
    A direct message from spirit
    This hand upon my chest
    A wide open doorway
    A polished mirror
    The blooming lotus
    In the mud from the dust of my heart
    This broom and pan isn’t enough
    Get a shovel to dig deeper
    How far will you go for healing?
    The never ending purification
    I am sorry
    Please forgive me
    Thank you
    I love you

      1. I used to write more, especially songs. Music flows so easily, but words are more challenging for me. You always have a way with words.
        Thank you my friend. ✨💫

  3. Shadows lurk in the dark. We don’t see them, but they are there. Only to wait til a sunlit morning…rising up in an in that is our out. That is not truth. Only within are we to ever know that which we thought once was. No, we are not here, but rather, we were. Yes, it’s kind of an inside out way of being, if at all. Not even a blink in the eye of time, that would be too much. Much less, we wait for something that will be passed us the moment it becomes the future. Try not to think …it’s impossible, or, is it not? I can’t ask the questions any longer. For all that I am, I am not. And all that I am not, I am. That which is, is not. No more, no less. I am Death. I am the beginning at the end. At the end with no shadow that lurks in the dark. I am home. You are welcome.

  4. thank you for holding true to your soul, and your deep love and heart. May you be blessed and supported in all ways that you need.

  5. 💫
    silver is quick.
    gold slips neatly
    beneath the hidden treachery of it’s own weight and worth.
    ashes to ashes
    the once in flames deified skeletal remains,
    now burnt to cinders
    haphazardly shaped as a chaotic pile of memories
    certain to be washed away by an ancient melancholic tear drop
    Is water to blame or was fire the culprit in this destined demise
    that harbored no eyes to witness or behold the wake of what was,
    what now is, what will be…
    impending last traces of warm summer magic slide past my grasp
    Fragile wings risk the doom of a pulverized undoing
    dust to dust of the heart, subtle avatar envoy
    “Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.”
    in the realm of secret order,
    could the killing of a sacred deer, sacrificed on an altar of unwitting denial
    prove to be the final descent into irreversible oblivion
    Are the stars the limit?


  6. fire and water
    softening
    sharp edges
    and rubbing
    ancient boulders
    into powder

    this rocky grit settles
    thickly
    in opened
    hand palm
    then winds came
    with a fierce howl
    and blew
    dusty ash away

    and the dust storm
    roared as
    dirt covered
    eyes,
    nose
    and so on …

    had to go into hiding
    and tend to whatever
    this is …
    this strange land
    of abrasions and sanding down
    comings and goings

    when you speak this way
    it’s the only real thing going on
    as you watch fools continue collecting
    golden flakes grasping for middle
    world half-truths
    hoping it will pay off some day
    only to be led by the brass ring lie.

    the heart break — this ache
    for what should have been —
    the longing of what will be
    the suffering and the joy that invites
    the veiled dance ready to embrace
    the heat or cold – it feels the same fire or ice

    that color you speak of
    the silence that remains
    in the quiet white where

    the undiscovered lies in wait
    like the gentle scent
    of a tender
    moon flower –
    bright and open
    in beckoning moon light
    remaining as
    a forgotten song
    sung from the
    first heat and freeze now mingling
    and forming as wet ashes
    creating mud ponds
    of transmuted muck

    and the

    haunted suffering of
    the noisy middle
    world ignoring
    the dusty spell never
    finding but always seeking
    in the shadows
    treasures buried
    deep
    in our hearts
    that live
    by the light of the moon
    yet grow irritated by the
    moon light that floods
    bedroom windows

    as shadows come to light

    in a distant dreaming
    of being the open
    moon flower in the
    quiet white
    never forgetting
    the star constellation
    of your radiant face.

      1. 💙🦋💙
        such a summer filled — little regret
        as witnessing all this abounding chaos
        is creativity taking hold and flipping the impermanence
        reset button
        💙🦋💙

        1. that’s delusional. if you came out of hiding you’d see that. look at your life- and look what you just wrote. You can’t live through me- he’s your husband too.

  7. I pray for you,
    Whoever you are.
    Look into your own ancient eyes,
    Like vakra tunda, get into the dark nooks and crannies.
    Like Atma-Bramha. The clearer you see yourself, the clearer you will see The Expanse
    The rest is miscellaneous entertainment.

    1. Did you mean vakratunda mahakaya
      are you referring to lord Ganesha-

      What exactly is “the Expanse” ??

      seeing yourself as Brahma or not,
      can be messy and dark…doesn’t
      make it untrue- isn’t that right?

      Shiva is different than Brahma in
      that he has less interest in making things
      work. Haha.

      Thank you! This is the way☀️😎🐾

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