In the well of your dark eyes I sink; gasp, suck air
from the squeamish depth of my choked lung.
In the space between the walls when I slip away
I weave images of beautiful sunrise, surging energy waves
as fine threads of million channels collapse into centre.
The string of breath rises to the soft point on my head
where my mother kissed and caressed at my birth,
ran her fingers lovingly and prayed life remain sealed in.
Now the air pops like a bubble on my soda, and car mirror
holds the blinding light as long as I grab a meal –only so long.
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Chikhai Bardo is a liminal state when breath stops at death time.
You can read about Bardo here.
You can read here for a quick understanding of Chikhai Bardo.
You can read ‘The Tibetan Book Of The Dead’ here.
