Hello Paradise Prose pilgrims (is it obvious that I am running out of unique ways to start posts?), hope this post finds you well! I am aware there are too many P’s in the previous sentence, unfortunately once the alliteration starts, it takes hold of my writing like a never-ending hiccup. Anyhow, as promised, I am elated to be able to present to you the final draft of my poem on the topic ‘Water-forms’. There was much behind-the-scenes scrapbooking and brainstorming that took place in the buildup to writing this poem, but that’s a topic for the following post. For now, I hope you enjoy the read – I haven’t given this poem a title yet, so feel free to suggest any inspired by your first impressions in the comments.
The stream of consciousness flows and my pen follows
carving ledges and moats for the water to burrow – for
I am a form-giver, a woman made in the image of God.
My work is to watch, watch forever
ever listen for the limitless –
Endless desert is all these mortal eyes behold
I know this soul is tired of old, for it has long run after
mirages. But only when I knelt
upon these wearied knees, I knew you,
your gentle answer: oasis water lapping
at my feet. I cupped it in my hands and in that miraculous iris
I looked
within
and
without
Light follows water like a flower girl, scattering her golden petals like
a million prisms on its rippling retinae – forms
emerge, diverge, collapse as I look in, part of your divine play.
But within a glimpse you are gone, and I
am only looking into a clear, bottomless pool.
Water forms: I see the waves rise goliath high, like opening mouths
and I
am trembling, pleading, formless
cry in the dark, sinking like silt.
Remember, please remember, I tell myself:
you are the water-form, but also the
form-giver. You are a woman made in the image of God,
which means you are made of water, that
life that is as simple and straight as surrender.
By Shreya Manna ©
Paradise Prose Blog 