At the depths of the ocean,
Your wistle contorts
You threw your gossamer net,
To cling upon the reeves of my existence
How they must cut your stronghold?
Under remain soft and supple,
In the fluidity of love
The flutter of flags in the wind,
To sanctify her solitude of grievance.
She wants to be worthy of this utterance.
She has ripened in this season…
Spent with eyes closed and casted to the ground.
Golden bands to open the mind’s eye.
Mummified in golden chants,
To caress the awakening of skin.
The ritual has begun.
Mala crowns her blossoming mind.
Unearthed, in the sacred,
To become a living shrine.
Poem and Art by: Naomi Ruth W.