Distanced

There is a girl who lives not here. Her tender aspects create sublime contrast with the rocky terrain of that other land. I see her cruising up and down the undulating roads of that little town. Spangled jhola slung down  her shoulder, tidbits clasped to her bosom, her face serene. She walks alone in the sun. Little droplets of sweat trickle down her forehead and mingle with the serenity therein.

I look forward to the day I leave this madness behind and on a drowsy afternoon of the sun, sit by her side on a little bodhisattva rock and talk.