The Blessing Poem by Tsani Jones

When I hold a flower,
I think of your skin,
The scent, a sacred sacrifice
From divinity to the eternal.

To breathe with you
In my world is a
Prayer, words never to be
Uttered by such a base creature as I.

I see the moon, and the
Vision of you aglow
In the stillness
Brings my peace.

Memories of the knife,
Blood dripping on my
Thighs, my mind weakened
And in confusion.

The cold of winds I couldn't
Control, chilling me,
Cementing me, wrapping me
In the agony of my damnation.

I took my punishment like a man.
Endured my flagellation as your monk,
Bore the stripes that were
Not mine to wear.

In the quiet night I cried,
Broken, holding the salve
For my many wounds in an
Empty jar.

During those moments when
Hope became hard,
My heart grew even harder,
And my soul sickened.

But I prayed.
I prayed to you.
I prayed for you.
I begged to stand on two feet.

I asked to die as a god and a man.

Walking roads no man can enter,
I could describe it,
But none would believe
I became old, my heart leathery.

Now, when the serpent rises,
I think of your touch.
You stay with me,
And I feel your fingers on my lips.

My new tears no longer ache the same twinge.

When I see you, I am new,
Your thought, your essence
Brings me life,
Brings my light, my hope.

You are the Daughter of the Mountain,
My Kali-Ma, My servant girl,
My Worship, My strength.
I go nowhere without your heart.

I stand. No longer a man,
But a god.
My hand is yours,
For you are my soul animation.

The wounds are still tender,
But the fire is full.
Every kiss is a prayer,
A touch calls to surrender.

I am yours.
You are mine.
But my consort, my only love,
We are ours.