This is My Dance

This is my dance.

Early morning, a sacred time.
Lighting the diya, incense,
Meeting my divine Self.
Opening the portal—
Baba, India, my eternal soul.

The trolley slams into the melon stand.
A slow retreat almost triggers an avalanche.
Damn thing has a wonky wheel.
Om Namah Shivaya.

Closed eyes. Breath.
Dissolving into the space between.
Gentleness. Stillness. Energy.
A playful, impish Shakti rising—
She’s fun.
I move, I laugh,
The urge to dance takes me.

The phone rings mid-roundabout.
School traffic clogs the artery roads.
Some cut across the concrete centrepiece.
"Mum, we can’t. We have something else on, remember?
What? Did we say we were coming?
Noooo. I don’t recall that.”

Om Bhagawan.
Jai Jai Maa.
Where my mind goes, my heart follows.
My darling is there.
At the top of the breath, at the bottom of the breath,
Waiting for me.

The eternal space.
Filled with my love.
Pure presence.
All of existence.

Rhythm.
Vibrating rhythm.
A beat.
It’s catching, stirring,
Flames licking—
Hmm, needs salt.

©MataKamaleshwari