Beneath the star-capped mango tree
I wait for the gentle voice in the
Night air.
The voice of mystery
of silence of pain of tender
and sweet resonance among ripe
full fruits.
Peacocks softly coo in their
sleep at His sound
as the stories tickle my
ear and I bury my nose deep into
loose curls and an
aching heart.

I quietly long for his
soothing voice ready to tell
me His beautiful
darling stories of the
earth
the water
the spirits and the saints and
demons
the burning sun
breaking monsoon
the tiger
crown rubies.