Thursday, June 5, 2014

what will you do when she speaks?


What will you tell Maha Devi when you reach her?
when you get there
when you pay the toll
and cross the bridge from living to dead?
when you wake up after this life?
what will you tell her?

will you have only questions?
will you stare at her directly until your eyes bleed?
will you pour your tears into her hands,
 will you wonder what to say
will your tongue be dry and your throat parched
and your voice higher than the clouds
will you laugh?

will you ask her about that freedom you wasted
that day you decided to give up
that language you learned in your sleep and then forgot
as your eyelids moved up and down
and then
will you ask her for another chance?

will you ask for more time on earth after those 94 years, or the three days you had?
the moments of exhilarated pain and loss you cherished, the lessons you scrawled on your limbs with tattoo ink? will you fall silent for a century, just like the statues they built from fleeting notions of what deities look like, what appearances arrive on the wind into the minds of the visual artists whose hands paint, sculpt, mold and draw the formations and outlines of those who are most elusive
yet closest to us, the entities of compassion and forgiveness, the deep abyss of knowing that science has not yet grasped, the place we turn to when all else fails, when we fail, when we fear falling, when we fall?

will you write her a list, will you ask Maha Devi for a second chance?
Will your family meet you there with her,
will you align yourself with a new lineage for next time?
will you finally release the hold you have on your illusions, will you illustrate your knowledge
with your fingertips and your heartfelt quietest whisper
will the longing finally cease in her presence? will she hold your hand as you turn to ashes
will she lift you up?

what will maha devi say to you, my friend, what will you do when she speaks,
the horrible glistening of her face, the numbers that follow the letters,
the incessant truth spilling from her, always spilling?

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