To the Artist's Page                          To our home page

To Michael H. Brownstien's previous piece     To Michael H. Brownstein's next piece

Three Daughters

Mara sent to me her three daughters.
They came to be between dreamtimes.
I wished to touch more then their breath,
but my arms locked to my side
and I could not rise to greet them.
They danced near and far and touched me,
touched me here, there, other places,
ran fingers of gold down my legs and chest.
I could not turn my head to kiss them.
These things angered Mara from her place
below ground, angered Shiva--her husband
He arrived handsome as only men can know.
Do I not like his daughters? he asked.
A snake curled away from his neck.
Do I not wish to enter their realm? he asked.
The skull at his neck dripped graveyard blood.
Do you not? he asked. His daughters danced, 
my dreamtime began, or ended.
It became mine again, I can turn away,
I can refuse. Later purple splotches
will not wash away with soap and water.

To the top of this page