Kali

Credit: Emma Miller; Unsplashed

You never stopped coming,

Or calling,

Cooing at first,

Like a beautiful bird

In the first throes of dawn

My mind not yet still,

And my old self untorn.

Then your cry became as terrible,

As the tourniquet applied to self and others,

Breaking me down as I chanted Your Name,

With tears as salty as oceans,

Erupting as your Grace,

Like the love of a Mother,

With a Warriors touch,

Claimed that which was

And its ‘white knuckle’ clutch….

And finally my scream became a slip

As I melded into your beautiful arms,

And fell at your feet

Every tear a thank you,

For never giving up on me

And every breath an act of Worship.