The Residual

by Madhu Kailas

You are a warm glow and I try to sense it—

Like stitching a string of paper lanterns
swinging softly in noiseless, empty dreams,
free from time.

Like a laughter with a ring and a melody
gently drawn in, to an embrace of warm bodies
free from boundaries.

One drop of water and the surrounding darkness
dissolves. The lanterns retract and melt
into their own selves

like when we return to our silence in a silken core.
I think of seeds scattered in space—
walls crumble and set windows alight,

and green fields rush back into us.
Our forms are decorated with purple wild-flowers
and silver pebbles.

Patience from the sky, from the absence of things,
patience from now knowing, in this anxious world
watching us with stoic, limiting eyes.

The world recedes and the residual—
in that—beauty of origin, germination of your thoughts,
holding a point of singularity,

sensing your warm glow,
the beginning in the end, the beauty of patience—
how I wait at the threshold.

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