Arpita Rawat - new poem, in progress

I met with time late that morning
Couldn’t tell my day’s running
And when I did step out
That’s when the wind turned
Murmuring the calling
With a feather in its cap

The crossroads is where it stood at
Unfailing and rich
The compromise was on its landing
Its space
Its sanctity
Its religion
I felt the sweep again
Further I went to the force
It paved itself for me
With waste from a gypsy land
With stolen smells from the past
With a touch of interspersed life
With style
And so I stood before it
Feeling the gnaw I knew not of
Feeling, and yet not knowing

Uncertainty strengthened my steps
While keeping in sync
With the rhythm alongside of me
She breathed her calmness
Relieving me of trepidation
And giving me focus
(To cross over and not to fall)
To my calling
To our calling
It had arrived
I felt no thunder
No revelation
There it stood
In the clothes of the ordinary
No light no thunder
It wasn’t a revelation
My calling seemed…
Ordinary?
Mundane
And
Unworthy
Of the day long siege
For the glory I hoped to find
I sought my lens
And saw through it
So opened the demon-like mouth
With blood stains and the darkness of a forest
But
Then came the words
The melodiousness of which
I describe with tapping fingers
With harmony in them
With innocent pride
In the words of a shishya
An artist
A performer
A dancer
He sang high to the tunes
Of what was
Of his asset that is movement
Of his deep lineage

Happy with the nonconformity
Of thoughts and flexibility
Of ideas
I redirected myself to
The younger, with deeper faith and knowledge

The path seemed smaller
Yet the magnitude of the realm
Increased beyond the highest.