Saturday

The Evening Raga

The evening descends,
upon me as the shadows rise,
Slowly, she transcends,
the waking eyes.

The unfolding is a waking
mystery, her sleep an assurance deep,
the raga is in the making,
and the eve in the keep.

The notes swirl in eddies soft,
and the words are mire.
They come from the mystery croft,
setting my soul afire.

The spirit is vernal,
as the shadows leave
The melody, eternal,
and hence, is the eve.





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