Shining on, the incandescent flame of her body
And being, resounds in scarlet dreams.
Her shadow, a silhouetted canvas etched
On the door from where she ascends,
Burns slowly in the flame as she
Waxes and wanes, melting with the flame.
Crescent and dim, flickers and blazes
In the folds of her lotus palms.
The lamp is her uttered prayers,
Her domestic plate, her rebellion and her clichés.
The flame, a harvest of her love, growing
The wild flower of her blood raging,
She touches the red earth, smoldering
In the smoke and flame, she rises
Smooth, dark, numinous.
Note: An attempt at ekphrastic poem, while attempting to unravel the magic and mystery of a classic painting by Raja Ravi Verma, ‘The Lady with the Lamp’.
Pic from Net sourced by poet.