In the valleys between the blare of sirens And the bite of flashing lights Sometimes you can still hear the sound of bells Ringing, ringing, asking Will She come to visit in my open door tonight? I’ve left the hinge ajar in waiting
No anticipation can be greater, She claims the moon as child It’s complexion is sweet rice milk Standing in the night sky’s gravity Spinning, spinning, giving Soft illuminations to those tired in their travels
I have prepared a gentle bed for Her Perhaps She’ll come and rest awhile She has been churning the milky ocean, the galaxy of stars Blinking, blinking, calling to the denizens in their shelters made of hollow trees
Though I’ve sent the invitation, I would think that She ignored it For I was born in ill repute And small.
She paints the color of sky, Midnight black Taking, taking, owning Every color in the spectrum We are mere ebullient playthings thinking of our ends.
I prepared a kindly meal, The instruments of brass laid bare Bone dry, sterile, Sparkling, sparkling, hoping For the dinner guest to bring Her flare
I fear that She will never come So Giri says, I will wait alone awhile, and then I’ll wait again. I’ll make a meal the next day, And leave the door open Hoping one day She’ll arrive.