The lights are out.
Only the flare of candles,
The scent of jasmine,
And Rabindranath Tagore’s intoxicating
Poems of eternal love in the distance…
There is no escaping
this scent reducing me to vertigo.
What is this spirit
Pouring through a mountain?
What is this twittering in the moonlight
There is no choice,
Free will has surrendered?
What is this dialectic
fragrance that has
Captured the stars into a
Golden cage of galaxies?
In this world,
Treading life between Radiance and Mystery,
A flame bursts into a black hole.
A sunstorm of passion,
A moonlight of madness
Whips the clouds into drunkenness
Until they can no longer hold their liquid.
They hang heavy like a cheese cloth full,
delivering opaque juices into a sizzling storm.
lapping it up,
waiting for your waves
To etch my perfection.
© ARICA HILTON