SUNITA SINGH

SUNITA SINGH

Arc Of Sacrum

I am no Joan of Arc

Fighting holy wars or wearing the mantle of a saint

I have no truck with religious places

I am my god

I am my goddess

I am not out to flog dead horses

I am the arc onto my sacrum

Building me a stable foundation

Weaving nerves and sinews

Garnering peace between

Reason and Passion on a triangular battlefield

I am my own holy bread

I am my own wine

I am no Judas

I am no Jesus

I am that space which hangs in between!

Blue Sapphire

Your embrace is like the blue of the sapphire

Gradually seeping into me

making my body pure as gold

I have started playing like a flute

Moving like a dancer

Flowing like the breeze

Blooming like a sunflower

The mehndi of the stars embellishing my palms

The bindi of moon glittering on my forehead

Drunk, intoxicated

I sing my own tune!

Emerald Magic

Sylvan longings and impromptu drives to the hills

With you at the seat

Taking us on grey roads

Winding through errant streams crisscrossing

Gravel paths, narrow

The Baspa flowing furiously below

Smell of pine seeping through

Rhododendrons applying tilak

Welcoming us

Steaming cups of chai

Warm like love

Silent sentinels in white capes

Smiling in amber colours

Rainbow sheets of sky

Makes us fly

That blue butterfly on the purple flower

Winks

I open my eyes

To the emerald magic within

SUNITA SINGH