Tridevi

I. Saraswati 

Spinning the Thread

by the river

dreams linger

coarse wool washed

in the hush of early light

she draws it slowly

through her fingers —

wet, tangled, real

the spindle turns

a quiet circle in the dust

and each breath

is drawn long and thin

until it holds

a thread,

fine enough

to carry a name

or vanish

into silence

beside her

the water moves

not forward

but deep

II. Lakshmi 

The Weave of Becoming

in a field of stones

she bends to the thread

coarse still with river’s ash

the shuttle passes

again

and again

and again

through the open stream of light

her feet press the treadles —

time lifting and lowering

the warp of her days

fingers knot the weft

calloused, slow

pulling sorrow through breath

dust through dream

the reed beats it firm

each line set

in the quiet thud

of what must hold

between blue magnolias

the cloth thickens —

the tapestry of dusk

gathering into its own pattern

in the slow weave

of becoming

III. Parvati 

The Loosening

at the edge of the field

a child waits, dusk gathering

in the folds of her dress

she unties the last knots

loosens the weft from warp

not with force

but with the patience of wind

the cloth lifts

released from the beam

carried toward the ash-water

thread by thread

it becomes river again

becomes smoke

becomes breath

your hands, once full

are light now — open

to the silence that remains

she does not speak

only watches

as the moon passes through her palm

and by the river

where it all began

one thread drifts—

coarse again

ready

for the waiting