Connect The Prophets Poem by Satish Verma

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.