The Secret Path

Often,
I will return to myself,
to meet a lost ancestor;
exploring the statics―
of the room, from where the journey
had started.

I will read your face in dark. The
wrinkles, the broken teeth,
and the foggy vision.

The fire escape now lies bereft
of trappings. There is a blank space
there, sucking the sky.

The pragmatism had taken over
and I was left over with
the figures in stones.

I am trying to walk again
deep into the woods. The time stands
still. I am ready for an
uncounter with unknown.

Satish Verma