A poem by Prartho – Sleeping with the Ravens.
Sleeping with the Ravens
All night they flapped through me
on blue-black wings. By morning
every hair on my head had gone white
and was risen. Like wayward roots
they burrowed into the firmament.
I woke with that old raw
Not for starlight
but for what recedes—
the bottomless yearning
to walk with the ancient novitiates
who carry white fire
in their cupped dark hands.