Huellas

Pranita Bijani

She stirs in her room, she stirs in her garden
Her light, powdery footprints and softly she smiles
With selfless case she hushes another's cry
Listens to the streams of voice in the hallway that
	drift and sometimes mingle together
She moves like a child's cry errant in the night
Yet she seems as steady as the rise and fall of your chest and mine
I follow her gentle tracks in her room, in her garden
The morning light, dewy in its earliness, wet the room
And the glow touched the mirror with her face pale reflected, distorted.
Likewise the creaminess of her pillow was caressed and soaked with the 
	watery, watery rays.
The pillow's edge creased and dark, was but for a moment held by the 
	light, as were the scarlet pure scarlet drops by the seam.
Following her trail, I ran to the garden where she often went alone.
Trees whose dark green curls blended into the distant blue darkness
and the tiny, glimmering, white eyes of the sky peered at me
All hiding, all knowing
There, there by the beach was her clear glass cup, made it seemed of 
	melted grass so green it was.
I held it up to the smiling moon, and there are the bottem a pool 
	of smooth rubies
Then in the distance I saw her, with the reflection of the clouds 
	drifting across her eyes.
Swiftly I moved towards her
I touched her arm, and she was no longer there
the blood in my hand dripped, liquid petals onto the soft powerdery
	footprints she left behind