"Desire was there to mingle with Thou",
Soliloquy'd Simoni, "Or would I say,
The desire was born that way.
Never did I know
Why was it born?
Probably it was my destiny"
Another stance of a miracle again hit him;
A grace right from the world of higher spirits.
And he was in trance for the whole winter.
Now, when the winter is gone,
In a position was he,
To pen down what I went through.
It was overwhelming. It was breathtaking.
Yes, it was unbelievable. Absolutely unthinkable.
Such a joy was it.
His heart was light, and it was flowing in trance of exuberance.
Yes, it was an ecstasy he had never known.
It was so tenderly strong.
He gasped, "I have been feeling under surface in my soul so long: an incarnation.
It had to become manifest. So much desire must create a reality.
My love was sprouting out of my heart,
Determined to create a figment, an artifact of that divine state of being."
Angela when blossomed from the white marble,
On that full moon night,
Reflecting all its silvery glory,
On the still stream by the fountain.
And when she wrote on the canvas open,
The verses of the Rubaiyat.
On the sepia background..
Simoni fell enchanted,
Watching the beautified letters, with confident strokes of shiny mysterious black,
Flowing with perfection,
Like a seal diving into the still stream.
Was he standing there, in awe.
Skiing in ease, with youthful wild throb in his heart,
Stupefied with the intoxication of her magic.
He was just watching in awe,
Those impeccable strokes,
Perfect the first time, and every time,
Confident, open, bold, artistic, and glorious.
They were as if pulling his heart out,
Taking it in its tempo,
To a world unknown.
And he stayed, surrendered in his totality,
Allowing the flow to take him to the world new,
To taste that exotic presence of beauty.
Then, Simoni thought, "let me mingle with your essence,
With your flow, with your writing"
And then I too wrote on another row,
Just below the strokes of Angella,
The same words, in his way, in his style, in his might.
Then, Simoni saw his writing, and hers.
He could see they were like made for each other,
One completing the other.
They were so unique, Also they were so alike,
They were so class apart, But they were also so close together.
He could feel the sense of mingling of the souls,
The mutual camaraderie,
Through his writing and hers.
Amazing was the feeling of belonging,
Incredible was the feeling of being a part of her,
Sailing together, in unison, in harmony,
As the dance of salsa,
Being the symphony itself.
"Desire was there to mingle with Thou",
Soliloquy'd Simoni, "Or would I say,
The desire was born that way.
Never did I know
Why was it born?
Probably it was my destiny"
But the Simoni stopped, and contemplated,
"Beginning am I to cherish,
What it means to mingle with your essence,
Your essential beauty,
Your expression of art,
In your voice, your gestures, your writings,
And yes, the radiance of your presence."
He continued,
"Your essence understands me, though you don't.
Your art, and your stance, your magic, your elegance, your enchantment,
All knows me, and loves me, though you don't.
I feel good to be with the essential,
To be in love, in communion, with that essence,
The essence of Love,
The essence of Beauty,
The essence of Life and Light.
I care not,
Thou love me not.
Or probably you do.
Anyway is so inconsequential"
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