As I Went Sorting Myself Out Poem by Sibghatullah Khan

As I went sorting myself out, I met them all,
black-robed and grave, with purple on display at stalls:
they would push me on with hope on their brows,
light my way forward with words, their hands and eyes
talking like mad for me to scale new skies every day.

I went plucking the yonder suns, and riding
those rainbows aloft with colors on parade,
and ran past those creepy, spine-chilling silhouettes
that looked like some animal phyla of bygone times
And went missing on this earth, munching dark.

True, I heard them mock and make many a face
as I moved on doggedly, caution to the wind,
wearing bright feathers, scaring despair aside,
and those waiting for me at finishing lines yell
bravos as I neared my dates with unlikely dreams.

I looked back thinking of my milestone men,
who when I felt like losing did not let me then.
Growing a crop of suns, I went burying like seeds,
my little loads of darkness scattered like beads.
As I saw my eyes and face bathed in a dazzling light,
I was far ahead of silence and a long scary night.