Relishing the soothing scent of sanctuary,
warmth of face upon the abundant familial bosom.
Here and now, yet somehow there and now too -
circling amidst the ether of some timeless stratosphere
rapacious tentacles of being – touching, feeling,
body’s translucent lightness -
distillation of awareness.

And from this balcony
I could snatch my heart,
fling it far and follow it recklessly
and the strange thing is
they would understand,
they would stand back
and with a sympathetic smile say
‘moderation was afterall,
never her forte.’

They would understand
the need to fly,
that the soul has wings,
that beat so very hard against the bars,
that through the fabric of material reality
lust, passion consume and ultimately transmute
into essence of being, divinity,
the need to fly to keep dreams alive
that although one can do that thing,
that everyday thing,
what sustains life is the desire to fly.