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She Shuffled the Stars
We have seen you before, Seeker—
in the candlelit corners of a thousand lifetimes,
eyes heavy with questions,
hands trembling with the weight of tomorrow.
Maya sat before you,
her kitchen dressed in black,
as if the walls themselves were keeping secrets.
Steam rose from coffee cups like incense,
and between sips, she touched the deck—
a living thing in her hands.
She shuffled the stars,
and the first to fall was The Fool.
We spoke through her lips:
> "Walk, even when you cannot see the road.
Trust the wind though it carries no map.
For wisdom wears the face of foolishness,
and beginnings are cloaked in uncertainty."
The second card slid forward—The Devil.
Our voices turned grave:
> "Here lies the chain you clasp yourself.
Addictions of the flesh,
desires that drink you dry,
the invisible hands you let guide your steps.
But know this—every chain has a lock,
and every lock can be undone."
And then—The Sun.
It burst upon the table like dawn breaking the bones of night.
> "Light will return," we whispered,
"Clarity will kiss your shadow.
The garden will bloom after the storm.
Not all is lost—
humanity will rise again from its own ashes."
You left that kitchen
with the echo of centuries in your ears,
for we are the Readers
who have always been here—
shuffling the stars,
turning the wheel,
telling you what your soul has always known:
The journey is long…
but the Sun will find you.
Copyright ©
Chanda Katonga
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