Renunciation

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I have waited for you
like the tree waits for rain
mute with unsung desires
and abashed, its leaves
clinging to the brown stem
with dry hands and dry lips.

Like the orange flower
of the pomegranate,
I have sprouted my question
from the topmost branch.

I have said your name
to the sun that beats
fiercely on this valley
making its lakes gleam
and the fish spool deeper.
I have chanted your name
to the winds.

Once, I wrapped you
in the folds of my sari,
entwined you in my anklets,
tied a string around your wrist
and kept one end under my pillow.

I woke from sleep
to find you gone.

I sought your face
like prayer.
I prayed for you.
I prayed to you.

Little by little,
I gave up the marks
of my womanhood.
My hair. My bangles.
My laughter. My breasts.
My certitudes.

I carried you to the
burning river.
There, where the water glows,
I immersed you.
I scattered you in the wind.
In the wind,
I scattered you.

Now, I enter the fires
that burn by the river
I let them singe my skin
I become what I was meant to be:
a heap of charred bones
by the riverside.

My body seeps into the earth
little by little,
until I can no longer tell
where my skin ends
and the soft, gritty line
of the soil begins.

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