Cradle Me Into The Sun Poem by Mirjana Miric

Mother.
your resplendent chariot
courses through my vein,
the flesh of the grape
bulging the canticle
for your eternal blaze.
Mother,
I stand beneath you,
my primrose
bathes in your garments
cascading from the cumulus.

I slumber
on the rudder of your hand;
I am breastfed
by your milk of truth,
I am embraced
by your wind of growth,
I am embellished
by the tears of your eyes,
the delicate rubies,
the rhubarbs of Summerland's cornucopia,
by the jeweled whip of path not yet taken.

Among the watchers, loud in impending grief,
I am bowed and I nurture
the ground with my saliva,
I return to you,
I stand ripe,
in the envoy of your sons.
I feast on your wisdom
just as you
feast on my innocence,
we transcend mortality
and omens,
I, tied to the wheel, turn gracefully
in my joys
same as in my sorrows.

Behold, I stand in blades of grass.
the emeralds spiral,
dance to greet you passing;
the hands of dethroned kings
resting on my shoulders,
each one of them
with a beard slightly longer,
just as the cloth of my death is tattered
yet still young;
In the blush I remain,
'till my word is as old
as your youngest summer.

'till my path crumbles with my womb,
till the strings of my hair
are no longer a riddle,
'till I no more walk to praise you
but to plead you
to cradle me as well into the Sun
and sing me lullabies.