She breathed him in

each cell expanded

Lord Krishna awakened

right toe nail, twitching

cheek.  He was all.

 

They hated. She belonged to

family not this statue of another

house’s god. She was theirs to

parade, abuse, subsume.

She should be punished.

Her unsuspecting lips

touched cold steel cup

and liquid death

eagerly approached her

 

Now molecules

moved, unlocked, mutated

reassembled. Poison became

wine. “SHE IS MINE.”

Divine intervention indeed.

 

Gift basket appears at her

doorstep.  Delighted, she moves

to open lid. Inside, writhing sea

of deadly asps await. Her finger

feels, soft flicker of tongue?

No, soft petals entwined with

thread, garlands, jasmine scent

wafting into nostrils calling forth

the sweet ambrosia scent of her lord.

 

The sharp point of persecution pushes

her out onto the unending road.

With her vena, her voice, her passion

she wandered the world and hundreds

followed to hear her weave stories

of love for one unreachable, untouchable

yet so utterly, totally hers.  Lord Krishna.

 

Meera bai Godlover, Divine Poetess

freed from the rites of dharma

to pursue the truth of Krishna

Today she sings through the mouths

of thousands a thousand

years from her last breath.

This is the true miracle,

this is the only way to

cheat death.

She lives.