Chanda Katonga Poet Free verse

The Tarot Cards

At the middle
of the night—

she shuffled
the cards.

Silence listened.

The Hermit
emerged.

She looked
into my eyes
and said—

Chanda,
you are ruled
by inner wisdom.

And solitude.

Your path
is not crowded.

You will walk
alone—

for long seasons.

Not as punishment.

But as design.

She shuffled again.

The wind
stood still.

The Death card
fell.

Not gently—

but with certainty.

She leaned closer.

Her voice
lowered.

You carry Pluto.

Destruction
follows you.

Rebirth
follows destruction.

Nothing
stays.

Nothing
remains.

You are not meant
to keep—

you are meant
to transform.

From seventy-two paths,

I chose one.

The hand
did not tremble.

Justice.

She did not smile.

She spoke—

Life gives
what is earned.

Not what is desired.

Saturn
keeps the scale.

In Libra—

nothing escapes
balance.

Then—

the wind returned.

Uninvited.

The Empress
was taken
from the table.

Carried
into the unknown.

And I understood.

Venus speaks softly—

but does not stay
for long.

“I want love,”
she whispers.

But love
is not gentle
with me.

That night—

I did not fear
the cards.

For the universe
does not shout.

It reveals.

Through symbols.

Through silence.

Through fate.

And in that moment—

I knew.

God does not speak
in words.

He speaks
in signs.

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