We are the Mysteries…
Unfolded quickly like dirty dollar bills.
Hurried to be handed over in exchange for what we named freedom.
We come from behind the veil.
Like a bride…
Holding the keys to the grooms release.
We are the grip of her roses…
Holding on by the roots, protected by its thorns.
Confusing nervousness with excitement…we remain unseen.
And yet she visibly sings,
Echoing the sounds of trumpets..
The outcry of the sores from winning wars.
It serenades the groom with sounds that free his limits of,
tolerating darkness’ imitation because- She shines.
Some only came for the relief and the wine.
Connection is her reward in the Divine.
This marriage…
Not of two humans but of mind presets.
Never changing or regressing in the name of superficial progress. – Hrsh Reyalitee
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Street Poets Artistry Collective Ent 