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I engraved her name on the picnic table
Then I engraved the stone over her grave
I engraved the memory of her face on my heart
I engraved the words on the walls of  my prayers
Then out of desparation I engraved her memory in poem
From the depth of my cage
I saw you pretending to be
Not my keeper
Releasing me, only to chase me
Into my own nightmare
Of charred souls
Standing helpless
As I watched the ash blow away
A real nightmare I had that a while ago that I cannot forget
A story unfolds in her eyes,
the little runaway recites,
depth in an iris of secrets,
halcyon days and sapphire nights.

Release the words dearest youngling,
bleed the emotions you regale,
let the narrative entice time,
weep the history of your tale.

She blinks and the page slowly turns,
another chapter taking shape.
The story unfolds in her eyes
and lids close as she seeks escape.
 Apr 11 Nishu Mathur
Maria
I met the Soul,
And she was empty.
She was exhausted, unattached.
She wandered charily,
Taking the back streets,
Not to be noticed.
She was unsaved.

Was she abused?
Was she just given up?
She walked so poor, not oneself.
"Why are you suffering?" -
I asked her heedfully.
And lo I realized:
It's my Soul herself.
Thank you for reading this poem!💖
When we were leaving our place
I turned back for a moment,
I wanted to see it one last time.
The forest pulsing with dense life.

The first whisper
of Ambrorella’s blooming,
bitter fruit plucked
when we were hungry.

It was then I felt, for the last time
the false peace
of a sated animal.

I closed my eyes
and when I opened them
nothing was the same as before.

I remember,
You held my hand.
I was never just your rib,
I have always been your equal.

You didn’t resent me
for not wanting to live in illusion.
And so, our awareness began to grow.

I took the fruit
and I wasn’t the reason for our fall,
we just saw the world as it is.

I feel complete,
despite the pain that moved through my body
and still, it remains.
When all seems to die or to be born
I carry the warm living light.
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