It is not simply
for evening breeze,

dark  pond, lustrous inky
sky, hum of crickets,

cool grass, evensong
of creatures, that she

emerges. It is the lure
of soul awakening,

nudging, prodding,
drawing her into depths

visible only at night. She
roams moon-soaked fields,

slips in the swirling river.
Awakened from death,

she finds herself
where she started–

on bloody knees, halfway
between dusk and dawn.


prasanta 2012