Untitled/The Mandala

The little girl walked in,
The house by the tree seemed welcoming; there were noises outside that she
didn’t like;
Textures and patterns were everywhere, all glazed by a warm blue light.

It was gabled, and had stories in every window,
There were steps that led somewhere else;
She reached out and felt its strange contoured yellow and orange walls,
Her fingertips touched the homes of the tiny insects that live in their tiny
cavities.

She went down, and did a little whirl around the room
And dreamy dust rose from the floor, settling on the web of a dream catcher
that hangs from its ceiling.

John was in the room, and was talking of how the water around the room was
like a frame that reflected the sky,
She peered into the water,
It giggled and cast dancing shadows on the orange walls.

Thoughts, like bubbles with worlds suspended in them surfaced from John’s
words,
Some were gory, dull and menacing,
Some sad and terrible,
Some were violent, colored red by hatred in a time gone wrong;
And yet some were pleasing, breezy and nice smelling.

In that vague moment the room held pregnant all these worlds,
But they slowly began to seep into the walls, the rich brown earth absorbed
all the colors,
And again, tiny shoots of grass caught the sun, in sparks of smiling green.

—————————–

2002.Written as an artistic adage/tribute to the Mandala, a structure built by C F John at Visthar in Bangalore.Visthar is a multifarious NGO based on the outskirts of Bangalore.

Know more about them at http://visthar.org or watch this video.

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