Alok Mishra writes

Incessant Shower

Having awakened from long hibernation,
I ran
Towards
An invisible image.

A band of seekers,
Thirsty of divine nectar,
Drenched in the holy shower,
Having not any sense
Of being animate,
Was after my shadow.

I danced,
Making harmony
With the rythm of the drums,
Being beaten by men fulfilled;
As a nymph
Being mesmerised,
In heaven
Dances in the tone of
Apollo's lyre.

The leaves of the pines
Around the high mountain
In jocund,
Embraced the breeze,
As a bevy of beauties,
Swaying their hips,
Caress their lovers
In great glee.

The sun, like a groom,
Brought a golden stole
And covered the mountain
As if his newly wed bride,
Shyly.
Her every limb was shining
With the golden, warm and healing attire;
No more cold was there now.

Through the golden path
My bare feet passed
And took me to pinnacle
From where,
None could be seen in the earth.

The unlimited power
Extended me
Incessant shower.
I soaked myself
With the velvety touch.
For a moment
I forgot myself;
I had no sense
To perceive
His carnal presence.
A whispering voice
Of my heart
Silently
Gave me a part
Of information of the whole.

 

 Apollo and the Muses -- John Singer Sargent