Posted by: Jivani Lisa | May 9, 2015


The tomb and the womb are one
and the same vessel — dark
and watery in their promises:
Holding for a time, cradling
that which journeys onward.
Sometimes cool and
sometimes boiling, new life
waits and listens, absorbs
sounds outside, in the unknown
territory — so vast and multi-
hued in imagination, endless
in possibilities.

Birth.  Where,
doesn’t matter. When, is
never soon enough it seems.

Freedom beckons to the tune
of distant chiming bells and joyous
voices heard amid tall pines,
their feet strewn with cones — each
one full to overflowing with seeds,
with love, on the path of life.
Even dry bones hold a record
and point toward a fresh tomb
of mother earth.

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