Drishti

She sees it all—
the laughter, the tears
the struggles, the fears
the friendships, the envy
the revulsion, the pull.

The fight, the retreat
the fear of success and
the attachment to defeat
are all in her line of sight.

Her glance is the difference
between hope and redemption
between dream and realization
between survival and life.

Her gaze is grace,
sweet as milk and honey
fragrant as rose petals
binding as silk threads
liberating as an open window in gusty weather.

And when she looks in disdain,
all life shrivels up
like ailing trees at the onset of autumn,
and everything festers
like an infected wound.

Her wrathful eye
is the end of everything.
It is fire, like ice and ice, like fire.
It is pain growing in intensity
with no promise of death in sight.

But after the fire, the stars come out
and in their twinkling, she relents
and in her forgiveness
lie healing and comfort.

In the fold of her eyelids is life.
Ever-unfolding when she is awake
and resting when she sleeps.
her vision is creation itself.

Ashtami 2004