Sometimes in dreams it seems as if ancient memories roam through my consciousness, exposing the temporary identity I call my: self.
This poem explores that identity and my true spiritual identity, and it asks the question how did I get where I am today?
|Photographic art by the author, Janavi Held|
by Janavi Held
Her solitude wraps round her
like a lover, like God,
like an illness and its remedy,
like shattered stone,
like insatiable waves,
like the blunt flash of electricity
splintering the sky.
As her discarded heart fractures
wet hands of ruined fears
reach for the only One who will listen
the One who hears
when all humans are dead,
when oxygen stops breathing,
and humiliated gravity has lost her power.
It is in this death of family
and all things impersonal
that she is seen at last
reaching for the invincible echo
as she trembles with ending stories,
personalities, and discarded treasures
she can no longer remember why
her eyes and hair are brown
why she chose the burgundy curtains
that hang in her bedroom
or why she prays for sleep on endless nights.
She can no longer see
her mother’s face in her eyes
nor hear her father’s deep voice in her mind
she can’t imagine who this is
as she stares at her reflection,
as she gazes through a pane of glass
at the blistering night sky
the history of the earth
in her solar plexus,
drops from her hands,
secretes from her skin
and still she can’t
remember a believable history,
the eternal sky.
|Photographic art by Janavi Held|
Janavi Held started writing poetry and wandering around with her father’s camera as a child. At the age of nineteen, she began practicing Bhakti yoga. She holds a bachelor’s degree from Goddard College where she studied poetry, photography, and media studies. She is on the verge of releasing her first book Letters to my Oldest Friend: A Book of Poetry and Photography.
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