ananda.
slumbering nerve-ends ignite in memory
of vowels and symbol combinations long forgot vocabulary runs as a river on recollection of you

sathya.
do I trust you?
sattva.
I see it in you, lighter than day. I trust that.

shanti.
I knew these pieces of the tongue once
could call on them in moments of sama
giving myself from the world of unrealness, of maya, of worldly possessions meant to distract,
breathe them in and out, live in their meanings
yet even they are inadequate to describe

sama.
it returns to me now
but what doing is it?
I nearly lose balance on the idea.
was it the arms of your prana wrapped around me supporting my reignited buddhyate
as though we stood in embrace
or is the rejuvenation of my will
fueled by my own shakti,
merely energized by the audience of [how do I call one such as you…]?

ananda.
this word awoken first.
can I be surprised?
sattva, all of it
sathya, naturally
shanti, in your gaze
ananda, ever in your company.

(Dec. 2014)