VII : TMC : The Fig

by Dayran

 

 

 

If she allowed herself, she could be a divine vamp,

But she put on a fig leaf because it pleased someone,

That was her criteria for decision making in the life.

When viewed that way, a woman is a wonder of the world,

Cultivating all things favored, pleasurable and divine.

When Indran dismissed her from his presence in the garden,

He had lost the aesthetics with which his mind found impulse,

Including the inspiration to live, before the ways of man

Introduced the scheme of the ego that created the will.

The nature of the clandestine allowed Indran some respite,

Crawling into her dreams as she lay in non-tonal slumber,

Until they crossed the Rubicon of her dreams and thereafter,

She stopped completely. It continues to remind her of that,

A former personality she lived as a cloud that floated,

Aimlessly wandering, waiting for something, playing

At the arts of despair and helplessness, as if death itself

Was a sport under the stage lights that conveyed her

To her audience, all around. Of a personae that they seek,

That casts pictures of suggestions about the one thing

We all dearly seek to touch. The self. Sweet adoration

That we preserve in ourselves, to hold and behold it

In our presence, always, as the lover and the beloved.

Combined in an embrace that draws on passionate logic,

Or the adage practicing rhythms of logical passion,

Answering the call of ' When shall we meet again?'