In the Dark of the Heart
My lord, the lifter of the mountain. A moment without you is no moment.
To love one not earthly this is the root of pain, my friend. He will
speak -oh so sweetly! then snap love like a jasmine stem. Says Meera
devoutly the thorn of waiting pierces without end.
The king essayed his kind of gift; a snake coiled in a basket. Meera saw instead a garland, wore it. Next came a royal cup of sparkling poison. Meera looked -- it was the dew of life -- she quaffed it. Last throw of the dice, a bed of nails fine pointed. Meera touched them, saw a sheet of flowers. Lay on it. The lord of Meera he protects her from such. She moves in him unmoved, loses only herself.