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