namaskar

How lucky to be alive and healthy
and 24 in this golem of a city, my
desire to prove each freedom like
a hungry rat padding through a maze.
How lucky to have found a tribe, each
of us taking a thousand heavy steps
to find each other. With so much
wrong in the world, with our eyes
perpetually stapled to the back of
our bladed shoulders, I hardly stop
to reflect on that initial spark, the
cold tingling behind my forehead
and sternum, the palpable energy
of curious souls thrumming in the
warm sockets of our eyes. Those
moments drift like wind borne from
the lazy flap of butterfly wings, the
tapestry of us rippling in the breezy
caverns of our future. It’s the purest
form of magic, electric and fleeting.
So for these moments, for every
beautiful one: namaskar, the elusive
divinity of my soul bows and kisses
the pale fish of your restless feet.

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