CONNECT THE PROPHETS

Outside me was a howling light 
tracing a path. 
Ending the struggle 
of abstract thoughts. 
The night was full of hidden flares. 
The day was a luxury, 
full of exclusiveness. 
We must not cry. 

The wounds turned up 
like fireflies in dark. 
I groped in my inner expanse to know what was not. 
My fears were agitating. 
Perhaps the unknown was unfolding 
a sad chapter. 

Time always turned back. 
I joined the circle of heels. 

Ultimately the crowd thins out. 
The soul strips to the bone. 
The void heals the grief, 
and the twisted roots, 
connect the prophets.

Satish Verma