I am Shesha, coiled in space,
And I have a thousand heads;
I float on the sea of Vishnu bliss.
When everything comes to an end,
I will be all that remains
To begin the world over again.
In the Aztec, I am worshipped again,
Given my own calendar space.
I am etched in crumbling remains;
I dominate fragile human heads
And hold up buildings end to end,
While lords dance to me in bliss.
Charmers use me in their bliss,
Playing their flutes again and again,
As children gather at market’s end.
Unwinding in my basket space,
I sway to the motion of their heads;
Oblivious to music I remain.
A healer’s symbol I remain;
Now researched for medicinal bliss.
My shape adorns the logo head.
And I’m respected in church again–
Some, out of the mainstream space,
Who have faith enough to face the end.
Yet it’s the same in the end:
The garden mythos that remains
To overwhelm the public space,
The Bible story, Heaven’s bliss;
Most will name me evil yet again,
But they choose not to use their heads.
Some see the diamond in my head,
The symmetrical patterns end to end–
They value the beauty in me again.
I am part of the ancient remains
And exist in my own plane of bliss,
A differently scaled dimensional space.
My multiple heads, all-knowing, remain
Alert to the coming end, hooded in bliss,
Ecstatic to begin again and reinvent space.
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