It looks like disaster
It feels like an angel slain.
Yet through cracks and ruptures
in all she should have been
beauty is breaking out,
like a holy flame.
Bliss sparkles where bodies break
and ecstasy, sister of the bitter,
Can you hear her singing
within heart shards of shame?
Give me a moment of your emptiness
Let me into that secret place
where fear, anger and destroyer’s rage
are infinite passports to joy;
and freedom that can not be slain
in the heart of she who is anyway here.
Let us un-scroll together
the promise of this living majesty
in she who will rise again.
(In the picture: Pakistani woman stoned to death for owning a cell-phone).
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