The Lingering Sound

There is ecstasy in the divine mother’s earrings. Their eery jingle, their glorious sparkle, how they turn, and mirror the light, perfectly accompanying her hair. Her earrings do look like the most beautiful things in existence. It takes no time to get absorbed in dwelling on them. And everything fades into the background. There is ecstasy in Krishna’s armpit, where it folds, creating a small wrinkle by his chest where he holds his flute. That wrinkle is completion. It is the end of confusion. The surrender to fate. And where the gopis left footprints they are more fulfilling than wish-providing trees. Their golden etching on the earth radiates light for eternity. Hearing their lingering whispers is drinking pure nectar. Overhearing their stories of love and heartbreak leaves one in a trance and forever addicted. No thought, no feeling, no memory fulfills what instead lingers. And lingers on and on. Like a song that stays in your head and remains there in secret; inspiring, possessing, at the center of what is moving the rest of it all.