A Stranger At My Door

The twilight leaned upon the hill,
And all the woods grew hushed and still.
The dusk unrolled its ashen floor,
When fate knocked faintly at my door.

A hollow sound, yet deep, profound —
As though the years had come around.
I rose, compelled by something old,
Half fear, half wonder, taking hold.

The latch gave way with iron moan,
And there he stood — yet not alone.
Behind his gaze, I glimpsed the past,
Unspoken dreams, long overcast.

His cloak was dusk, his face the dawn,
A blend of what I’d lost and won.
No greeting crossed the fragile air;
Regret and grace stood trembling there.

The wind drew circles through the grain,
And whispered truths I can’t explain.
He turned as shadows crossed the glen,
And I was left myself again.

Yet still I feel, through sleep and floor,
That stranger knocking — evermore.

By: Sankalp Mishra