The truth of Agni;
Fire consumes the illusion.
Trees walk on the black way
To the stars,
Trees who remember,
With the stones,
The earth’s enchanted bones,
The beginning and the ending,
The faces of the stones rise,
Red, gold,
Patterned in scars,
Walls of stone, tall,
Remembering
All
The dragonflies
And the elven folk
Of long ago;
No one believes
In them now
Though
They sang the truth of the stars.
In the ending – skies
Of gray
And white – oppression.
The smoke of time,
The embers
Of existence,
The age of blindness,
Of existential crime,
Treachery,
And war
Going now,
On the winds of time.
Shiva dancing both time and eternity,
In the stark
Winds that clear the smoke
Of being.
Soon, the bough
Of the oak
Will climb
Into the shimmering rain
Of Indra.
There, the face of Shiva
In the gold
Trees – twinkling among the leaves,
In a world so old –
That came before —
Yet shines again –
Now
In the ever-glimmering rain,
In the train
Of flowers,
In the arc
Of ancient powers.
***
Written August 7, 2021
© Sharon St Joan