Inner Peace Of The Spirit Poem by Ayni Poet

A late summer rain is descending,
Dressing up the night with wet whispers
And a minty breeze,
Spraying new fragrance on the roses' neck,
Dissipating fresh pigments
On the poet's skin.

The white melody of the day,
Melts away as a bride's veil slipping
Onto a carpet of orchids,
Taking with it the masks and mantles
One's soul carried as a mixture
Of pleasantness and burden.

Heaven now breaks,
Revealing a background that few ever notice,
Obstructed usually by incessant locomotion,
Not a state nor a hard-to-reach space,
The seat of sheer lucidness,
A stillness prior to thought and time,
Terra firma of the Spirit,
A womb boiling with sacrosanct Peace.