Four Doors

By Ritik Gautam

Nights when I cannot sleep,

Thoughts — like still water — run deep.

Hark! A bird on my windowsill,

Four doors in my head — puzzled.

The bird first lands on the red door’s latch,

A sign, perhaps, to lift the catch.

I open it — bright white light;

It leads to a garden, still and ardent.

A nearby swingset, a gullible child,

Down by the swing, his father smiled,

Waiting by the slide, with arms open wide,

A Polaroid for the wall called “A Beautiful Life.”

The bird then flashes a shadow sign —

Time to step into another time.

I enter the next door, find my old room;

There I stand — my younger shade.

“Am I worthy, or just a mess?

Are they proud, or filled with regret?”

“You deserve the world — the limit is the sky.

Have faith in yourself; you are the light.”

A feather falls gentle on my palm;

Perhaps it’s time to seek another realm.

Another door, another life:

A man wakes at six as the clock strikes.

Drooping child at school, watering plants,

“Hurry, I can’t be late!” — his chant.

Back from work, another day checked —

A settled life — reality, or just a myth?

The bird then sits on my shoulder —

Time to ring the final doorbell.

A cemetery — stone rows, dust and ashes.

An old man smiled, and bade me sit.

Before I asked, he said, “Don’t worry — here we’re at peace.

We fought a war; that’s why this catastrophe.”

“I had hoped to see my beloved soon,

But she lost her last hope.”

The bird lifts off — a whispering wing;

Four doors close softly — what will this new morning bring?

By Ritik Gautam