Crossing The Bar

Beyond the gaze there is a time zone
of rumored agitation,
when you cannot sleep.
You open your eyes quietly to complain.

The caretaker has prepared the shroud.
Smoke is rising on the hills.
Nobody walks with you.It is a
lone journey, where centuries throw the dust
on your hallowed gifts.

The pyramid of signs, symbols, signatures,
disappear in penultimate flare.
Time to leave the waiting room.

The resurrection will take place now;
of fear, of despair, of foot steps in dark.
I will hear them, holding my breath.

Landscape will change into valley of tears.

Satish Verma