They arrive in darkness
from the depths of memory
of faraway lands
and
blood soaked streets.
Shadows move
noisily in the night.
Fingers
point accusingly
Wails
a cacophony of regret.
Dismembered,
limbless, sightless
sometimes lifeless
faces,
bodies,
voices
questioning.
Asking when I will return.
If
I will return.
I am the itinerant,
welcomed
into hollow rooms
where faith has fled.
Yet all they have
to offer me
is Faith.
Their pain
writes my story.
Their cries are
my sound-byte.
Their lives
a canvas
upon which I paint
the colors
of my choosing.
clouds of Charcoal
Crimson pavements
Blackness between
Distant stars join the chorus
lovers,
sisters,
children
lost to the skies.
Gathering like confetti
Raining
fierce,
raining,
hot.
Asking when I will return.
If
I will return.
maya mirchandani 