The bleak cold of the raging violence.
The ice wash of another day.
The bare morning blade.
She stood not caring
for the pretty things
that used to hold her up.
Like a shield or a sword.
“I cannot protect you anymore.
I cannot fight you either.”
She stood looking out upon the battle field.
The quiet house, empty and afraid.
Her eyes were made of fire that had turned
Her body was made of ancient
She did not need any of the things
she had killed.
She did not need anyone looking inside.
Through the windows,
touching to find
where the great warrior had gone.
Her head was filled with wind and lightening.
Today was going to be silent,
surrendered again to the dead.
She did not bury anything.
She just stood and watched
it all, even her.
Disappear into the hidden place
like a secret deadly weapon.
A priceless gem.
An entity that never existed.
One about which great stories are told.
“It is not all in my head.
It is also in my heart.
Where nothing ever leaves,
but becomes an artifact
left for the world to hold…
And even if they thought I was never here.
I made them change in ways as deep
as volcanoes. And even if they thought
I was worthless. I gave them my life…”
(And that is who she was,
every God forsaken morning.)
(listen to – prayer of the soul- Hanuman Chalisa sung by Sharada Devi)