Facing Mecca

Velvety softness cradles my forehead
In colours of blue of red of white of green,
It is the same softness that my heart feels
Cradled in the glow of a peerless candle.
I can feel the Earth as it slowly turns
And I am part of its axis and merge with it;
There is no you, there is no I, only this:
This carpet, a gift from a Kasmiri.
A deep vibration echoes within me
Like Om, but said in a different tongue;
I am not as I was once before.
I am mellow musk and sweet sandalwood,
The thread that dangles from a turban tail.
A blur passes that I never noticed
Because here I am not; I exist — not.

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This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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