Listening to Taj
For the first time,
I felt like I was the page
Upon which a poem was written.
A nothing, which he filled,
Line after momentous line,
With meaning for my own existence.
Now I’m imbued with the fragrance
Of his thoughts and I’m no longer
The emptiness that he embraced.
A glad exchange, for my nakedness
has never been better covered.
Now, I’m on a wall, beautifully framed,
All who gaze upon me pay homage
To Taj, by whose gaze I transformed.