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Cryptic Signs
Now, I don’t know why,
he left without a word,
returned from the grave,
only to walk a road I could not follow.
Someone must have held his name closer,
spoken in a language I could not hear.
I watch them exchange unspoken truths,
a passerby in their quiet communion.
And now, I don’t know why,
she left without a word,
came back from the night,
holding a baby’s hands, still and cold.
So, I must let go,
accept the shape of my solitude.
No cryptic signs or fleeting gestures,
only clarity will chart my course.
I throw open the window,
invite the mercy of the wind.
I am a judge in search of justice,
an equivocator craving honest ground.
Copyright ©
Abir Sawran
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