An insightful poem by Prem Geet.
She thought it was
A linear process, and it was
For a time until
She went up and found them
All there in a circle around Her.
She had never dreamed
They would all meet,
Put it all together to
Present a final summation
Of Her to herself in the presence
Of all the others.
Nowhere to hide here in heaven.
She blankly assumed they
Would need Her
To meet, that She was
What connected them.
She thought She held all endings, farewells,
Stories. Final, complete, processed, and
Her 458 lovers had been a factory
To make Her
She never expected Her lovers
To organize, return, convene
just for Her, to actually talk
about Her with Her.
Nowhere to run here in heaven.
She gathered Her courage waiting to
Explain just one time.
Her circle of lovers stood glowing and simple,
And in each face She saw
Learning, love, reluctant smiles dawning
In men reportedly devastated
By her disappearance. But here,
They remembered how much they loved Her
before She had hurt them, and here, they could not remember pain.
Each was covered with the snowy ash of passion long after it is flame.
And here they stood like Her own order of radiant monks
In sudden kinship to each other, the All and the One.
Then She learned for the first time
They too each had had
458 lovers who also appeared (458 lovers x 458 lovers)
For the reunion, an educational
Convention of sorts for 209,764 inter-loving
Lovers. So now She was suddenly
Off the hook but felt rankled
With thousands of betrayals and too much
Information that no longer mattered but would have
At the time.
In a huddle Her 458 lovers told Her it was never really
About Her exactly
but that She served
The thing in them
That blossomed invisibly
And for which She was not present
And could not even
Take the slightest credit. She inadvertently
Served their highest good,
The great unknown, and it was kind, through Her,
To each, and every time.
By Prem Gee