The Girl named Mandala

Her complexity was drawn on the page for all to see,
Like lines darted across from one side to another,
Her lovers moved in and out of her life
and where one's story ended,
another lover's began.
The web of lovers she had created held her suspended,
However she was tangled and lost in her own doing.

There is a pattern in her creation.
She had a hidden order within the turmoil,
A symmetry for her chaos,
She kept the secrets of her universe hidden.
For the one who saw her inner meaning,
she brought him the balance that she was always seeking.

He loved the girl named Mandala,
Her lines were many,
like the scars that revealed her bruised heart.
He vowed to her that he would always love her,
A consistency that she so much desired.
His line was at her centre,
and it curved back upon itself into a circle,
and continued into infinity.
His circle waded amongst all those dying lines,
Those lines never crossed his path at her core,

They could not break the union of his circle.
To find the inner peace she wanted,
Mandala traced his circle over and over again,
In his nothingness,
there was a peace she had always sought but never known,
A place where wondering lines did not dare to venture,
where she was entirely surrounded and protected by his love.

At the centre of her universe he span,
like a whirling darvish dancing in the name of God,
he gyrated endlessly while only invoking her name,
Moaning it gently as his love for her intoxicated his spirit.

When you see her mounted on the wall now,
framed by the titles she carries and names that she now has,
look past the chaos of those old lines protruding in all directions,
look to that undying circle at her core,
where nothing but his love for her exists and catches her when she falls.

Little Mandala,
My dear little Mandala,
Don't let the chaos of your lines bring you down,
Your drunken circle will always be there,
loving you from the marrow of your existence!