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Waiting By the Door

Written by Nirmala on .

A poem about my daily meditation practice:

Every day I wait by the door where my beloved enters.
It is not the door to the street,
but the door to the rooftop tower.
I never ask her how she enters at that level,
as I do not want to scare her away with questions

I wait and wait by the door, even though
I sense she slips by me several times a day,
as she is a master of subtlety and disguise.

But when I least expect it,
She suddenly appears before me in all her breathtaking beauty.
Often I just catch a glimpse of her warm, moist, empty eyes,
before she is gone again.
Occasionally she takes a moment to sit beside me
for a bit of silent conversation.

Sometimes if I am beyond wanting anything more,
she moves like the lightest breeze
directly into my heart,
until both she and I disappear,
and the silence is left to carry on the conversation all alone.

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People in this conversation

  • Guest - lidiamarin2003


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  • Guest - Nirmala

    Thanks Lidia! Glad you enjoyed the poem.

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  • Guest - Mehiar

    The last line says it all. Sheer whole existence. Magnificent.

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