On every face you come across
lies a script, ancient or not,
that you try to read
If the writting is familiar,
you give up
Too much of a foreign accent –
you turn around, walk away
But if it looks abandoned in time,
ancestor of paper, friend of clay –
that’s what you’re looking for
The divine door that opens without a knock
A perfect blend of who you are
and who you are not
Spirit of Tara 