Archives for posts with tag: Malavika Sarukkai

No saying where the dancer ends and the world begins.
With multiple arms, herself, the mother Goddess,
With flaming fingers, creating an entire world,
Assigning roles to each, in her cosmic plan,
Of parent, teacher, sister, friend, disciple, and devotee,
Herself, the maiden, and the bird in the gilded cage,
Now with a monkey’s tail, and now without,
Herself, the river flowing to temple bells and sacred chants,
The centre, in a world, where children do their thing,
She’s a Mother, spinning an ocean of tranquility,
From a Deity, famous for keeping a grand secret.

To be alone in this world is her calling, to be with all.
She’s space, in just one corner, of this Universe,
Where it’s safe to be, to let go, of all that’s insane.
It’s by her will that she’s seen, revealed and retained,
In this seamless space, even by her will, forgotten,
By those, prepared to receive, her boundless grace.
Their only intelligence, is knowing where to look.
There’s not one who watches who isn’t, to himself, lost.
It happens now and then, that all trees merge,
In just one, that’s pure consciousness, the essence,
Both in utter stillness, and, in sublime movement.

There’s a thrill before she strikes the gong,
Flowing on to a deathless resonance, passed on,
From one living cell to another, for ageless infinity.
There are those who would hang out the Ganga to dry,
For all the venom that has been poured into her.
But her’s is a will that replenishes all that’s truly grand,
In the fullness of a rhythm, unheard, upon the empty stage.
She’s sweet compassion, even in the killing, of all that’s dark.
She rescues her dance, from the edge of oblivion,
And from the lovers of the extinguished flame.
No saying where the dancer ends and the world begins.

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How do you hold a pain, a grief that everyone knows about, that they cannot fail to remind you of, at a time when you must transcend, if you are to dance at all! Dance you must, it’s the only thing that keeps you, from the edge of the abyss. But then, after you’re done, they’ll come for you, backstage, when you can no longer hold back your tears, and offer you words of comfort, a hand, a sympathetic look. But it’ll not do. No. You must go home to that sacred space where you are with those, who are as deeply touched as you are, and whose transcendence you could make yours, without guilt. If only we could remember our dear departed, by forgetting their conspicuous absence!
How is it that I sense another presence, in this Auditorium, on the lone empty seat, by chance, beside my own, watching keenly, listening, to the sound of your anklets!