but
I’ve sat
in the dark
and chanted a
mantra that rose
from the ground, wound
around my spine until I was
panting, writhing in a kaleidoscopic
dance of colors and I learned what no guru
could ever teach — advice is just one person’s
words knocking at the door and I stopped
accepting visitors after you left.
The walls of my house are
black except for these
words painted with
flashes of light:
write, write,
write.
Thanks for reading poetry. The world needs more people like you.
