In my solar system, the sun is a mass of words, heat and life, force and destruction, construction and reflection of a cluster of planets, around which colours revolve in symphony and erupt on canvas.

Courtesy: Natica Angilly’s Dancing Poetry based on my poem The Dance of the Goddess

In her universe, I see words melt and drape around fluid forms and I shiver and watch as a dance is born in chordal and cosmic harmony, to celebrate a pirouette whirling in a poem, or a chant resonating in a hymn.

You too perhaps find in words molten metal jewels, permeable rocks and onyx statues, or perhaps find in them hidden scriptures, or echoes of recitations in grottos; and maybe someday the words will disintegrate if you so desire, because your meditations have been realized.

Yet, first came the cry, magical and mystical, an announcement of freedom, a protest to be heard, to be fed, be held, be overcome with the gurgle and swath of happiness, of discovery, of touch, and scent and warm milk from the impossible comfort of a mother’s breast, as wandering eyes focused upon her face and words began to form in a hum… mmm…