Kama is Sitara’s God
Yes, that Kama
You wrote this so well that it took me two reads to get through it--I had to come back to it, now two hours after I flung my glasses across the room and dropped my robe half-way back to burying myself under the covers, as during the first read the highlighted passage triggered the emanation of the not consciously create-able sound of soul-screaming desolation-pocket draining.
“Hello, I had hoped we would meet one day under different circumstances and write this mostly in the present tense. I am a close friend and confidante of your sister Lindsey. In fact, I love her. I am the person who went to the precinct and pushed and accompanied the police to check on her after they were being dismissive of me the previous day. I have never experienced such gut-wrenching sorrow as I did on that cold rainy street, but realize it is because I love her more than I know.”
The wailing on the street was a sound that I did not know I could, nor how to, produce. It has emanated from me one or two times since. I cannot purposely replicate it. It is the sound of my soul crying out in pain from having its heart torn out and brain shattered suddenly, tragically, and without any warning whatsoever. No, crying does not begin to describe it; it is the sound of unrestrained grief without any concern about the spectacle that I was for onlookers for an hour or more. Imagine having open heart surgery performed with a jagged and rusted scalpel without a drop of anesthesia; further imagine that it was at a frequency and wavelength that ripped a hole in space-time and was heard across all eleven or more dimensions of the universe, not just then, but at every point in time. If you can close your eyes and feel the picture I just painted, maybe you will come close to understanding. If you can close your eyes and feel the picture I just painted, maybe you will come close to understanding my pain and my grief. And my Love, my Love, my Love.
Please, Katrina Bos, rest your dear empath heart easy, Sitara instantly exited life-review to console me back to sleep. We are now making love with each other as I type this story. I am now very much in blissful peace.
Now Katrina, here is the 2020 continuation of the 2013 self-portrait with which you connected earlier — I wrote practically nothing betwixt the two. It begins to tell the story of a true soul partnership:
This very first haiku of mine represents the human-soulmate lovemaking I described therein and am experiencing as we speak:
That image and caption I had used with this now revised-for-context tanka of a not-too-distant-in-time midnight walk, which had answered the prompt to write a poem about happiness without using the word or any derivative:
2/3rds moon-lit night
cumulous clouds appear grey
against midnight-blue
playing what shapes can I see
home now — Sitara is too
In Rama I create,
Marcus
