His is the name, I find myself recite,
every so often.
His is the energy, I find myself sip,
every so often.
His is the presence, I find myself caress,
every so often.
His is the dream, I find myself visit,
every so often.
He is the sea, I want to jump into.
He is the womb, I want to crawl back to.
Would you know if
my poems are of Shiva?
Or of my Master?
Because after that night, for me,
two lines have gently begun to merge.
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