Some things are not meant
To be written down…
But to be lit like lamps
In the room of the Soul
Where, alone, you go, sit
And cry tears of relief
At this gentle meeting
That comes like unexpected acceptance
From the one you loved so long.

Some knowing does not arrive on
Stallions of thunder…
You might have imagined it
Like hers, or his, or like the legends
Of the so many Buddhas…
But it also comes as if a single whisper rising
At the end of a great storm
Just to say, “Come”.

Some wars are not so that
You may win, or try to, or even lose…
They are meant for surrender…
When Draupadi raised her arms
Above all that could shame her
She went beyond shame
Forever.