Everywhere

From inner spaces I call you, sweet love,

You descend a cascade of light from above,

Asking for your touch everywhere,

I lie quenched beyond all care,

Till the untouched parts call out to you,

From their light burnt brethren taking the cue.

You smile and say, “Not yet,

The wood in parts is still wet.”

Unperturbed in contentment I wait,

At the overhead lucent gate,

Till bit by bit you make me pure gold.

Then nothing in me will escape your fold.

- Anahita Sanjana (India)