The state of Trans

   She was standing marooned in the,

Seemingly endless desert,

An abundant of untouched nature.

The hot wind blown past her,

Making her  wilt and  withered,

Yet  she was watching eagerly,

With her ears sharpen,

For the magical rendering of flute.

But heard nothing but howl of heated wind,

Making tantrums on the silky sand domes,

She stood there washed with serenity.

Years passed but routine repeated,

Never tired but with more hope,

She was there every  day waiting,

With wicks of hope burning eagerly,

Sun decended once again,

Making the shadows to lengthen,

Golden moon  swam  in the small pool,

   Mirrored her elegant face in the opaque,

Gleaming and immaculate!

And the lone vulture patrolled far high in the zenith!

With week steps she returned ,

Fading hopes puddling up,

Sleep conqured her clumsy eyes,

Presenting strange dreams ,

Paradisically beautiful.,

Pigeons in frenzy of spray bathing,

The magical rendering of flute,

And the sun simmering in the gold dust,

She whispered his name,

Her sound was feeble and faint,

Her breath tucked in her throat,

She experienced the trance,

There was no fear in her eye,

But a strange defiant glint,

The pecock  danced with ,

The glossy colorful feathers spread,

Immortal notes filling her ears,

She realized her inner light,

Far above the vulture still patrolled!

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