She cradles innocence,
an armful of pure expression
wrapped in a swirling world
of dark lipped song.
He dreams the rise and fall of
sighs, like prayers swayed
in the topmost slender leaves
of an ancient olive.
She is the sound of oceans,
rocking rolling breathing life
from fathomless dreams to
shoals of awareness.
In a list
Thoughts, Feelings, Interpretations, Experience:
Comments
-
a very spiritual take on the growth and development of life and the spirit itself. i hear the gentle waves coming to me as i read this. very calming. although i feel somehow it's like an unfinished dream, or maybe like life, it's a work in progress? let me know if you'll continue taking up this subject in another piece.
-
A lovely sight of a mother and child
And when I closed my eyes, it greets me not only as something truly pleasant to the vision but deeply touching to the spirit. I am not a mother (yet), but the picture your words painted here made me experience one of the most beautiful feelings I have ever had. Quite mystically, I felt connected to that child. Maybe I thought of my own child someday. I should thank you for this piece because it planted a seed of understanding in me of what being a mother means. It is beyond blood so they say, but this piece now speaks to me that it is also beyond the love that consistent togetherness brings. Motherhood is bringing out a certain spirituality in a child. Motherhood is a certain spirituality itself. It is in every breath a mother takes and gives; every little prayer and dream, even the slightest sighs are embedded in every fabric that becomes the child; there is nothing a mother can keep from her child because even if he never becomes aware of it, it is in him. It is just amazing that it would take a man, who cannot be a mother, to teach me this. But then again, perhaps every human being has this in his deeper consciousness, after all even if we cannot all be mothers we could have not come in this world and be who we have become without one.
This is a very neat satin stitch of metaphors, Z. She cradles innocense, dark lipped song, ancient olive, shoals of awareness. Beautiful. The first line of the third stanza somehow brought me back to a paradise island I recently visited. It felt like she is the ocean and he is the island, and it makes me want to sleep forever in the panorama of such serene view.
I really appreciate this piece and every fabric of it. This is as stunning as that island, as handsome as that child I saw in the author, and as refreshing as every provision of breath of light and wisdom from that inevitable spirit called mother.
Adding your comment:
