She breathed him in
each cell expanded
Lord Krishna awakened
right toe nail, twitching
cheek. He was all.
They hated. She belonged to
family not this statue of another
house’s god. She was theirs to
parade, abuse, subsume.
She should be punished.
Her unsuspecting lips
touched cold steel cup
and liquid death
eagerly approached her
moved, unlocked, mutated
reassembled. Poison became
wine. “SHE IS MINE.”
Divine intervention indeed.
Gift basket appears at her
doorstep. Delighted, she moves
to open lid. Inside, writhing sea
of deadly asps await. Her finger
feels, soft flicker of tongue?
No, soft petals entwined with
thread, garlands, jasmine scent
wafting into nostrils calling forth
the sweet ambrosia scent of her lord.
The sharp point of persecution pushes
her out onto the unending road.
With her vena, her voice, her passion
she wandered the world and hundreds
followed to hear her weave stories
of love for one unreachable, untouchable
yet so utterly, totally hers. Lord Krishna.
Meera bai Godlover, Divine Poetess
freed from the rites of dharma
to pursue the truth of Krishna
Today she sings through the mouths
of thousands a thousand
years from her last breath.
This is the true miracle,
this is the only way to