It’s a beautiful sight in the morning. A loving precursor to the poem that would follow soon after it. The love dance of a peacock on my terrace. I’m the excited peeping tom looking from the terrace room.
The
surrendering spectacle unfolds. The love-lynched bird spreading the wings of desire;
swaying the fantail of passion to catch her, the peahen, in his airy love-loops.
She stands still, full of wonder about this colorful show, the buzzing-humming
shake of his spread out fantail. Her time stops as if snared by the net of
love.
His
colorful invitation. Her curiosity, silence, acceptance; a space for the
manifestation of the nonbeing to acquire the shape of a little colorful being.
And of course the unnecessary worldly noise that is always seeking to spoil the
love game, the futile barking of the puppies in the street who find it a nice
case study to learn to bark.
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