Waiting for Mithila

Each day, wonder anchors quietly in my yard.
I raise my sails like Columbus, chasing the unknown
But icebergs strike;
wonder shatters, sinking into unseen depths.
In the dark ocean of my eyes,
I cradle Mithila’s divinity:
a lake of stillness,
where she floats, effortlessly and lightly.

I wait along the paths where Mithila walks.
Her anklets chime, distant and silver
Yet always drifting farther.
Mithila never comes.
Time falls like a feather torn by storm winds,
forever descending
Just before the rain.

I cannot tear myself from Mithila.
This waiting clings to me,
a shadow that will not yield.
The mirror of love breaks into silence,
and who, truly, cares?
Not Mithila.

Her kindness is a mirage,
and within me, bitterness brews.
Still, I will not let it spill into another soul.

When Mithila walks through darkness,
the full moon follows her in hushed devotion.
And I…
I follow the rhythm of her anklets.

Should she ever knock upon my door.