In the late hours when stars were still twinkling
A sharp loud cheer shattered my deep sleep.?
Some holy spirits thronged my room
I stood in the middle, some paces off.
A gobsmacked human watching them all
Their heads were surpassing the clock.
As I gave a surreptitious look at my door
Those piercing eyes ran after me
Holding a crystal ball in hands
One of them came ahead.
I touched it lightly with my hands
And some sort of thunder began rolling.
Smoke arose in the vicinity of the room
I saw many faces, some even known.
From what I saw in the white crystal ball
Was a message plain enough?
This is what becomes of writers — ashes.
I scanned again intently into the big ball
‘Homer’, ‘Dante’, and ‘Socrates’ stood there in one bar.
The abyss appeared so white that it left me blind
Its rush gripped me for nanoseconds.
Then I descended to other levels
There I saw ‘Horace’ and ‘Ovid’ in the second bar.
This clairvoyance was momentous yet fleeting
Ashes as grey as that of a phoenix greeted me.
Life is largely a matter of expectations – Horace.
And so, I drew aside and thought to myself
Dare I mention the desire of writing ever again in life?
There came upon my ear a terse reply — Yes!
Rightfully, in my place,?
to enjoy this pleasure that writing is.
As I kept turning the crystal ball
It came up with my name written in bold red.
The symbolic red manifests a ‘Passion’?
Here – Desires and Hereafter —Ashes?
But the fire in me was redder than this inferno.
It’s a beautiful ode to my living reality.
The fabled congruence of ‘life’ and ‘desires’
A sin as beautiful as writing will keep me breathing.
I was about to blink my eyes but Dante reappeared
He asked in a still voice —Is Life deceptive?
Without a pause, I opened my eyes
Let fear perish but I will cherish this passion forever.