Meditation

A bird circumambulates a cloud
in the distant sky,
like a solemn pilgrim
with obscure prayers

Noises become limpid, like those of
the vehicles clattering on the road, or
the air swooshing between flimsy curtains
and the adjacent window pane

I put my high-heeled shoes back
into the drawer,
withdrawing myself from becoming
and repose into being

The mind marvels at the flawlessness
of the blank page-
unblemished by the words and
sketches of past or future

Noises grow into a pious silence
May be, every moment is an epiphany,
if lived in the present

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