Meditation

My back yard is full of noise, concrete, chain link fence
overlooking neighbours in balconies.
But if I angle my chair
Facing the garden, seeing the leaves of the roses rather than the cars behind
hearing the miracle song of birds
not the pounding and shouts of men busy at building
there is a place
where the warmth of the sun is an embrace
felt with the heart.

Transition Point

Photocredit: Zanastardust

She walks toward
swords held crossed above her head
kilt swinging
strong legs, proud back
the bagpipes drone and wail, supporting her
carying within it the voices of ancestors
the strength of traditions of a proud people
who tolerate no dishonour

Stopping at the grave site
laying the swords crossed before her
her sword of will and power earned
his of pain and power taken
She leaps in the air
flying feet in warrior rhythm
No preparatory dance this, traditional to prove one’s mettle before battle
This is the battle dance of victory for enemy defeated
the battle dance of survival and the dance of triumph
Leaping over crossed swords as her ancestors taught, she banishes
she honours them and herself
She does what they did,
pinning unquiet ghosts to earth.

Leaping the final complicated steps over and around swords
faster faster
spinning, then stopping, fists held high, then drawn from sky to waist.
a knot tied.
a battle completed.
She bows and walks away.
head high.