In the beginning

there was the jungle
with dark trees
grinding the earth
with their vengeful roots
and sudden fires
that even when they were too spent
to rage
hissed vengefully
from ashes.
Then a path broke free of the
tangled fear
and pain
and found itself
and the light.
**
Then there was nothingness..
**
And then a desert
with dunes that dreamt of blue waters
and shady palms..
that did not exist
beyond the edge of a shimmering silver dream.
**
And now..
there is the river
flowing by..
ocassionally lapping up the shore
to remind that a river can be both
life and death
it can take you away from yourself
arms flailing..lungs full of water
and fear
and take you to green valleys
or smash you against rocks or
gently steer you to the ocean..
calm and forgiving
like eternity.
**
And the river gushes past..
slows down once in a while
to call me
and to wait
without seeming to..
**
Not knowing
that I wait too..
to be swept away.
**
Reema Moudgil has been writing for magazines and newspapers on art, cinema, issues, architecture and more since 1994, is an RJ, hosts a daily Ghazal show, runs unboxed writers, is the editor of Chicken Soup for The Indian Woman’s soul, the author of Perfect Eight (http://www.flipkart.com/perfect-eight-9380032870/p/itmdf87fpkhszfkb?pid=9789380032870&_l=A0vO9n9FWsBsMJKAKw47rw–&_r=dyRavyz2qKxOF7Yuc ) and an artist.