by Samadhi Yaisha
Copyright ©2013 All rights reserved.
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The Pink is fading from my hair.
Like everything else, it dissolves.
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The Pink is fading and this poem wanted to come out before,
But I no longer remember what it wanted to be.
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The Pink is fading and, everywhere I go,
reality breaks down into nothingness.
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The Pink is fading and I am looking for Home again.
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The Pink is fading and I can’t control a flight delayed:
hungry, thirsty, sleepy, halfless…
When I finally realize:
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There is no pink out there.
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There never was.
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It was just a fleeting ray of light
blending with the sunset.
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The pink is fading and I don’t
want to share anymore
how I feel.
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Stop.
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The pink is fading and I don’t care for sweet tea,
nor the yellow taste of chamomile
burning my throat.
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I’m not hungry for fake pink cupcakes anymore.
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Reality is pink in the fading.
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It is the hunger for a fulfilment
that never comes in the color of things.
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It is the urge to see the Truth –everything fades.
It doesn’t have to be sad, it can be beautiful.
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Then let me die to who I was –the trigger has been pulled.
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The Shadow-Lover rescued me, yet again.
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I’ll let Her go –the mystic Pink in me– I’ll let Her fade, dissolve in Thee.
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Oh, Shadow-Lover, to You and only You I yield.
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There’s Black, comforting Shadow of mine, I Thee embrace.
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And You birth violet flowers in the graveyard.
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This Purple that I am seeing,
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Is this a River of fast pacing waves of Being?
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The pain came and went,
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but You stayed, Beloved.
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The Pink has faded, then
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Welcome back, Black.
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Welcome back, Shadow-Lover.
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October, 2013 (Philadelphia, on the way to San Juan)
Copyright ©2013 All rights reserved.
A Mystic Writer 