I think God herself lives within

a woman’s body.

The inherent way beauty resides in

her bones,

holding the potential to recreate.

 

Guided by moonlight, birth and death meet

at the crossroads.

Two ships,

sailing,

within a sea of red.

 

I think about my mother.

And her mother.

About the women before me.

I think about the women after me.

 

(Is there a difference?)

 

I think about coincidences.

The way water travels—

Knowingly.

 

Rain embracing rivers, embracing shorelines,

with a sense of subtle familiarity.

As if, she’s crossed this path before.

 

I think about contradictions.

The way the tide grows, preparing to fall.

The gravity with which we collapse,

only to rise up again, as stardust.

 

The way creation is destruction,

is destruction,

is destruction,

is creation.

 

But this is not a poem about contradictions,

this is a poem about resurrection.

 

 

 

-Nivedita Sharma-