Shiva is her consort

A meditation on darkness

She flirts with death and destruction
Darkness is her cloak, her most trusted garment, shielding her from that which attempts to penetrate her
She is raw, wild
Contained within the confines of the depth that define her spirit
That which she crawls through
Day by day
Eve by eve
mud, blood and rusty wired fences

Longing for herself, gasping for the liberation of the clinging thoughts
That dull the wholeness of her
Incapacitates her from expressing the fullness of her fiery being
My flame withers, she whispers, as she consults the wisdom of Death
My flame withers, she whispers, as she withdraws into timeless rest