They Still Came...

( Dedicated To C... for an unexpected poetry reading session at the lawns, with noise and birds chirping loudly and traffic noises all around )

I would have never allowed this,

Not when respect is being shredded

Like grated cheese.

No publicity,

No posters,

No emails,

No messages,

I am scared.

Scared of Her thoughts,

Scared of Her voice,

Trying to screech,

And maintain the rythym,

S C R E E C H.

Bird songs they said,

Adds to the value of the ambience,

But not the pieces,

Fragmented, disjointed pieces

Toiled in the hours of isolated existence,

Lovely existence…

Loveless existence.

1 .. 2… 13….. 17……19

I stopped counting.

They still came,

Came for Her Reading.

Candles,

White, molten wax

Dripping deadly

On the soft skin

F L U S H …

The pink flush,

Over Her fair skin,

Under the golden light,

Exuded from Her inner being.

The incense stick,

Rooted in the soily stage,

Spread sacred aroma,

And opened the cage.

Birds chirped,

Traffic beeped,

She read Her pieces,

HER fragments and pieces,

With Her inner peace.

The pink flush,

Refused to go,

A silent vacuum

Engulfed me more and more.

Everyone around me

Broke their box,

Listened…

Listened…

Listened…

Listened with silence,

And unspoken thoughts.

Her face,

Exuded a golden beam,

A real work of Art

Can stop habit and routine.

The distant noises faded away,

The world became closer,

As She read with eager,

And love for Her,

Filled the space.

I allowed this,

I respected this,

It did not look like strawberries

Or freshly whipped cream,

A real work of Art

Can stop habit and routine.