Hear My Voice

Needing a bit less, I wanted to discover myself. Raise the chimney. The house in on fire. The door sleeps in the room. Sun will find no corner to sit. Can you call a cloud to make the floor wet ? The knuckles come alive, rap the window to stay calm. Someone had knocked out the space and coming in to meet the hunger. A shrine has asked the roads to be washed with tears of pilgrims who had come from the faraway hymns of darkness to script the light. I am carrying the seeds of my native place to find the roots.