She

By Tanisha Desai

SHE 

In petite etched  

Footsteps, inked, burned into the sand  

Only to be washed away by the torrent  

As if they never existed.  

The footsteps are gone.  

But she’s still there.  

She always is.  

You can smell her in the  

Fragrance of the ambrosial summer  

You can feel her in the wind  

Whipping across your face  

Yet caressing it gently  

Fierce but kind.  

You can see her in the  

Infinity of colour that swallows you  

In galaxies of tourmaline and

multiverses of amethyst  Drink it in.  

She doesn’t linger for long.  

When she passes, the trees, you see

them  Whispering in clandestine hushes  

She is a beauty beyond nature.  

I think she is a poem  

In lilting, rhythmic verse  

In the sea of thyme in her eyes  

Which you can float in  

But also drown.  

I think she is a song  

In her haunting melodies 

Burned into my mind, written in my heart  

I think she is a painting  

Leaving behind  

A trail of colour  

Marking her territory.  

And sometimes if you really listen  

You’ll hear a siren roar  

Or a drum beating at your eardrums  

And then you’ll know  

She’s near.  

That’s the sound of her heart.  

A roaring fire, a fierce unbeatable thrum  

And it shakes the earth.  

She is a candle  

Nebulous and ever-changing  

Be careless and you’ll get burnt  

Or lost in its labyrinth  

Or bask in its liquid gold  

And let it cradle you forevermore.  

Sometimes you can’t get it out your

mind, scarred on your pupils 

And sometimes you can’t tell  

If it was ever there.  

And if you look up  

Sometimes  

You’ll see her in the stars.  

Those stars that shepherds tread and sages

study  And I see tonight before my eyes.  

A cord intertwining the world flaming, shining,

guiding,  Forever. 

By Tanisha Desai